


I Love You Anyhow

by Sterekg



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:44:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 71,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sterekg/pseuds/Sterekg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles struggles within himself while discovering some emotions he's feeling towards Derek he never thought he'd feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is also on my profile on fanfiction. net! http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8678823/1/I-Love-You-Anyhow

Stiles clicked his tongue when he didn't make the yellow light, and stopped his Jeep rather abruptly at the cross roads. He rubbed his eyes while a heavy sigh escaped him. At least I get to sleep in tomorrow, he thought, once he looked at his phone which said the time was just after midnight. It was a Friday, and he was only just going home after regrouping with the rest of the pack back at the Hale residence, in order to make sure there were no remnants of the eventful night's ordeals still on his person that would raise suspicions on his father's side. He had learned to keep a spare change of clothes on him, or in his Jeep at all times. After all, walking in back home halfway through the night with your shirt torn and covered in dirt and blood, usually not even your own, was bound to catch your father's attention, whether he was well-trained enough to be elected Sheriff or not.

He felt kind of sad, for some reason. He always did. Sad and lonely. He rationalized it in his head as crashing from the adrenaline high. It was after all, an adrenaline-filled night. He had to hand it to himself; he had done pretty well tonight. It was the Hale pack's first battle after Jackson had been cured of the Kanima, the tally going up to six members, including him and Allison, as well as Jackson and Scott, who had finally decided it was time to embrace his wolf side and join the pack. Of course, Derek had made them both go through vigorous training sessions in preparation of this fight. He had known it was coming for about a week now, and had given the opponent plenty of warnings to get off Hale territory, which were ignored, so things got physical. Apparently werewolves aren't too different from hard-headed, high school jocks.

It was a couple of Omegas. They had found each other as they were wandering in the woods and decided to wander together, into the pack's land. Derek had sent out Isaac last Saturday to meet them and warn them to stay off. He had actually given them an ultimatum: join the Hale pack, or leave. They didn't do either. Derek warned them again personally on Tuesday, when he got the same response. Friday night, the whole pack was present, ready for a fight. And this is where Stiles' problem is.

There's only so much research can do for you in a fight. After that, he has nothing. He really wonders why they invite him to the fighting and the training if he's always either running for his life or trying to find something to keep himself occupied. He had thought about getting Derek to give him the bite, but every time he went up to him to talk about how good an idea it might be, his mind decided to go blank. And that almost never happened to Stiles. Besides, he figured, I'm already in the pack, risking my life left and right. Might as well be useful.

A blaring noise yanked him away from his thoughts. The light was green and somebody had come up behind him, waiting for him to move his car along.

"Okay, okay, I'm going…" Stiles said, to himself really as he laid his foot on the gas pedal. Driving home from Derek's was a piece of cake for him by now. He didn't even think about it, it was a habit. Going to Derek's too, that was almost an everyday occurrence. Before he knew it, he was home. He walked in and found his dad passed out on the couch with the TV still on, the volume low. He thought about leaving him there, but the couch was terrible for his back. He nudged him awake and told him to go to bed, which his father obediently did. After Stiles turned off the TV, he went upstairs and stripped to his underwear before he collapsed onto his bed.

I'll shower tomorrow, he sleepily thought to himself as he drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

"Stiles?"

Stiles woke up to someone whispering his name.

"Dad?" he said, with a voice still raspy and eyes puffy and deceiving.

"Stiles, I need to go to the station, they need me down there. Just letting you know before I take off," the Sheriff explained.

"But it's Saturday," Stiles said, after he took a moment to piece together what he had just heard.

"I know son, but there's a lot of paperwork and the lines are ringing… It's just one of those days," his father said, with a little bit of regret in his voice.

Stiles nodded groggily and his father left the house, throwing a "Love you!" behind his back as he walked out the door. Stiles looked to the clock on his wall. It read nine o'clock.

Well, he thought, might as well. He dragged himself off the bed and crawled to the bathroom, all the while trying to maneuver his boxers off his hips. He walked in and tossed them into the hamper, took a quick leak and hopped into the tub for a hot shower. He savored the feeling of the hot water on his bruises and twisted his shoulders, which cracked shamelessly. He decided he had earned a long shower, and spent just shy of half an hour in there. When he got out, he brushed his teeth and walked back into his room to get dressed before going downstairs for some breakfast. The clothes from last night lay in a pile on the floor, but he didn't bother pick them up until after he had filled his stomach.

As he picked up his jeans, his phone fell out of his pocket and landed on his bed after bouncing a few times. He was just about to go looking for it, to call Scott and see if he wanted to hang out. He checked his phone and found a couple of missed calls, which was strange, considering the only people who ever called him, he had seen only last night. He brought up his call log and both calls were from Derek.

Weird, he thought.

He texted Derek: "Looking for me?" and didn't really give it a second thought before calling Scott.

"Hey, Stiles, what's up?" Scott answered.

"Nothing, just wanna see if you wanna hang out. Are you with Allison?" Stiles asked.

"No, she's at home, I think," he said, absentmindedly. "But I don't think I can hang out actually. I don't know if I should be telling you this, but Derek called me last night saying he needed to see me first thing in the morning, together with the rest of the pack. Didn't he tell you?"

"Well, I got a couple of missed calls…" Stiles said, skeptical. "So I'll see you later then."

"Yeah, bye." Stiles hung up and looked at his phone. He had gotten a text from Derek while he was talking to Scott. It read: "Yes meet me at house."

Stiles decided that it was a good idea to head down to Derek's place and find out what he wanted at ten in the morning on a Saturday first-hand. If only he could find his keys.

After ten minutes of an enthralling search for his keys and wallet, Stiles was on the road. As he was heading there, he wondered what it was that was bothering Derek that it had to be addressed face to face, first thing in the morning, and not last night when they were all still together.

When he pulled up outside, he realized he was the last one there. Jackson's Porsche was there, along with Allison's car in which Scott probably tagged along - he was proud of the two of them being completely okay with each other after their breakup. Stiles got a feeling that something serious was about to happen, that kind of something that you don't want to be late to.

As he walked in, he saw the entire pack sitting on the sofas around the coffee table in the living room, Jackson, Isaac and Derek on one, Allison and Scott on the other, everyone with serious expressions on their faces. They all looked up.

"H-hey," Stiles said, with a sheepish smile and an awkward wave.

"Sit down Stiles, we have to talk about something," ordered Derek, softly yet decisively.

Stiles did as he was told and sat next to Scott.

"Alright, I think we all know who we're here to talk about," began Derek, with a voice grave and dripping with loath. Stiles had no idea what he was talking about, but he had a fleeting suspicion.

"Erica and Boyd?" asked Stiles.

Everyone looked at him, once again. Their expressions this time, though, were closer to incredulous.

"What?" said Jackson.

"Stiles, I don't even have werewolf senses, and I knew that was about Lydia," said Allison.

"Aren't you supposed to be in love with her?" Isaac asked, before the conversation continued, and Scott lightly nudged Stiles' elbow with his own, just for the support. Because God knows how many times Scott's made a fool of himself and Stiles saved his ass.

"Anyway," Derek continued, "you guys have been telling me she's totally fine? As in, one hundred per cent fine?"

"Yeah," Jackson replied. His relationship with Lydia, after the incident at the warehouse, had been reborn stronger than ever. "Barely ever mentions anything werewolf-related."

"She's perfectly normal with me too," added Allison. "Just regular girl talk and nothing more. I mean, it was kind of awkward the first few days, but even then she didn't talk about it. Either she's in denial, or she has a surprising control of her emotions."

"Why are we talking about Lydia though, if she's totally fine?" asked Scott. Stiles had to admit, it was a valid point.

"Because I'm thinking about offering her to join the pack," said Derek.

"What?" everyone said, whipping their heads around.

"I've been thinking about it," explained Derek, "and I don't believe it's a bad idea. She already knows so much about us, too much even. She's practically a part of this world already, and her boyfriend is a werewolf. And I know, having too many humans in the pack might be risky, but she's a smart girl. She can be trained in combat, if she likes. Plus, she's immune to the bite, so there's no fear of her going wolf."

"Yeah, but there's plenty of chance she's gonna get killed!" protested Allison, concerned for her friend.

"You and Stiles could get killed too, and I don't see you wanting to leave the pack," said Isaac, defending his Alpha.

An ear-splitting howl brought an end to their argument.

"What was that?" Scott said, suddenly alarmed. Stiles was sharing that emotion.

"Just the girl from last night, she's in the basement, don't worry," said Derek nonchalantly.

"You mean you have a werewolf girl chained up in your basement?" said Stiles, keeping his tone even.

"Yes," said Derek.

"Why?" said Jackson.

"Questioning," explained Derek.

"What about the guy?" asked Isaac.

"No, I shot him in the face last night," said Allison softly.

"Oh, right," said Isaac, remembering.

"And what could you possibly want to learn from her?" asked Stiles.

"Well, why don't we go find out?" replied Derek, the usual aggression towards Stiles returning to his voice.

Stiles didn't know why he hadn't bolted for the door up until that point, but five minutes later he found himself with the rest of the pack looking at the basement door and listening to Derek warning them about how ugly it could get in there. After all, he was holding her prisoner. Derek opened the door and they all walked in, like little ten year olds on a school trip to the museum, looking at the wonderful exhibit.


	2. Erica

The woman was a brunette. She was tall and lean, probably close to Derek’s age, and her clothes were torn and bloody. She was also quite beautiful, Stiles noticed, something which the layers of dirt and grime on her face failed to cover up. That was a bad thing if you were trying to pass unnoticed through foreign territory.

Her hands were chained to a radiator behind her back, which reminded Stiles of the time he chained Scott to a radiator back at his place, so he wouldn’t go on a massive killing spree. But this woman seemed more experienced, more in control of her wolf. Stiles wondered if Derek was being unnecessarily cruel and if setting her free and talking in a civilized, respectful manner would prove beneficial. Then the woman showed them her fangs and growled, and that thought shot straight out of his head.

“I’d like you to meet Janice,” said Derek. “She used to be a Beta of a small pack and then decided she was meant for something bigger. Tried to start her own pack, become an Alpha. And look how she ended up.” Those last words were said to anger her, more than anything else. 

“Those are big words coming from and Alpha like you,” she said spitefully. “You only have six members, and not even all wolves. Are they even adults?”  
Derek kneeled down.

“And yet, you’re the one chained up like a bitch,” he said softly. Stiles had to admit, he was good with the words.

“Oh, please! You can’t even keep your pack in one piece!”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles considered intervening, but thought better of it.

“Don’t play dumb. That blond whore is yours isn’t she? She had your scents all over her. Guess you’re doing such a crappy job as an Alpha, your pack members would rather be Omegas than stay here.” Derek clenched his jaw.

“You saw Erica?” Isaac asked. Janice paused. She realized she was onto something, something that interested the Hales. Something they didn’t know, which she could use in her advantage. A smile escaped her lips.

“Let’s get a little more comfortable, and I’ll tell you all about her,” she replied, a sly smile all over her face.  
Derek lunged and grabbed her throat.

“You don’t get to call the shots here, you understand? You break the rules, and this is what you get.”

“Fuck off,” she managed to choke through. Derek slashed her across her cheek, the Alpha wound remaining open much longer than a regular one. It would heal almost at a human pace. He stood up and left, the rest of the pack following suit.

When they were near the front door, Derek stopped.

“Guys, I need you to talk to Lydia. Today.”

People nodded, but Derek didn’t bother turning around to see their faces. He could probably sense it, but Allison spoke out anyway.

“Okay.” They were all still too concerned about the bleeding person chained in the basement. Derek sensed that too.

“Don’t worry about her, I know what I’m doing. I just need to find out a few things. Omegas don’t just wander into another pack’s territory and ignore any warnings. Something is off. I’ll find it out.”

There was a finality in Derek’s tone that most of the pack picked up on, indicating it was time for them to go. Stiles was about to mention Erica, when Derek said, “Stiles, stay behind for a second. I need to talk to you in private.”

Derek’s voice was low and soft when he said those words, and that might have been the strangest thing he’d been through all day. It definitely topped looking at the contents of Derek’s basement, which were a video camera short of becoming a snuff film.

“Oh, okay,” Stiles muttered. Everyone else shuffled past and got into their cars and left. Isaac decided it would be a good idea to go for a run, give them the privacy his Alpha had asked for. When the front door was shut, Derek turned to Stiles.

“Is everything alright?” Stiles paused to take in what was happening. Derek Hale was asking him about his feelings.

“Yes…” Stiles said, drawing out the word as much as possible without sounding linguistically challenged.

“Are you sure? Because I’ve been smelling a lot of mixed emotions from you.”

“Derek, everything is fine.”

“I can tell that you’re lying. Your heart beats faster when you are.”

“Or maybe it’s because of the out-of-the-blue display of absolute weirdness on your part?” Stiles answered sarcastically.

“Are you sure?” Derek said, softer this time.

“Yes, I am. And by the way, since when do you go around sniffing me without letting me know?” Bam. Just like that, things went from weird to awkward. So very awkward. After taking a few seconds, Derek replied.

“I don’t-” he muttered. He switched from looking at Stiles face, to looking at the wall. “I don’t choose what I smell, it’s all… All the smells are in the air, I just happen to pick up and…” Derek trailed off.

“Okay, so, I can go now?”

“Sure.” Stiles was quick to move, and looked at the ground as he went past Derek. He made a grimace and mouthed, “What the fuck?” to himself, before walking out the door. Once outside, he made his way to his Jeep and drove himself home. On the way he could not help but think about what Derek had been talking about. Mixed emotions?

I’m not the one keeping a prisoner in my basement, he thought. Stiles told himself that Derek was just smelling him trying to keep himself from judging Derek for what he did to that woman. That was bound to give off some mixed emotions, right?  
Before he knew it, he was pulled up outside his house, where Scott and Allison were parked outside, waiting for him. He locked the Jeep and walked up to the driver’s window. 

“What do you want, losers?” he said, crossing his arms.

“Get in, we’re going to do some group schoolwork and then go for lunch,” ordered Allison.

“Oh, awesome, I love being the third wheel!” Stiles exclaimed, lacing his voice with sarcasm. He turned out to be less of one than what he thought was to be the case, and getting some work done with company definitely beat rubbing your head for answers, alone, at nine o’clock on a Sunday night. Lunch was pretty simple, at the diner. Stiles thought about telling them of his conversation with Derek, but then decided it was not the best idea. But there was no escaping the questioning.

“So what did Derek say that was so private he couldn’t share with the rest of the pack?” Scott asked, intrigued.

“Nothing important, really,” said Stiles, trying to look casual.

“Come on, don’t lie to me. What did you talk about?”

“I told you, nothing! We barely said two words to each other before I took off. If I drove a better car, I would have caught up to you on your way to my   
place.”

“Cut the crap, Stiles,” Allison said, overly enunciative. Stiles sighed.

“He was asking me if I felt alright,” he said, with regret already flowing through him. The two sets of eyes staring at him suddenly widened, before both Scott and Allison burst into mocking hysterics. It took them a good minute to stop laughing.

“Stop it! It’s not that funny! If you were there, you’d be able to reach out and grab the awkwardness; it was not fun at all for me!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” chuckled Allison. Scott didn’t dare say a word in fear of his boom of a laughter escape his lips. He just stayed in the background and giggled like a little schoolgirl. “Was that all he said?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, sourly. “He said he’d been smelling mixed emotions from me, and he seemed kind of worried. But I told him I was fine, and I left.”

“Oh,” said Allison with a wavering voice. “Do you know why he asked you? Have you ever had any other… heart to hearts?” Stiles gave her a look before continuing.

“No, that’s the weird thing.”

“Oh, that’s the weird thing,” Scott suddenly piped up. Allison saw that they were maybe pushing it a little, and decided to break it off. She was going to   
laugh about it with Scott later, but for now, she decided to break it off.

“How about we meet Jackson at Lydia’s? Maybe talk about what Derek said,” suggested Allison and Scott giggled. “I meant about Lydia,” Allison said, smiling. 

The boys agreed, and paid the bill, right before Scott announced he had to use the bathroom before the left. Waiting for him, Stiles picked at Scott’s wallet, which he had left on the table, while Allison was outside on the phone with Jackson, arranging the meeting. Dr. Deaton’s business card was poking out,   
and Stiles grabbed it and played with it while he was waiting for Scott. He decided to save the number too, because, why not?

A few minutes later, they were all in the car on the way to Lydia’s house. Apparently Allison had offered that they stop by Jackson’s place and pick him up, but Jackson said he had too much pride to show up anyplace in anything besides his Porsche, so they agreed to just meet there.

Once there, they all stood outside the front door, discussing how to bring up the subject.

“Hey Lydia, we’re all in a werewolf pack, you want in?” said Jackson

“I was thinking of something more subtle,” said Allison, glaring.

“As if it matters. We’re still suggesting something crazy, it doesn’t matter how we say it.”

“Guys keep it down!” hushed Scott.

The front door opened. It was her mother.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, suddenly looking up. “Jackson, Allison…” she trailed off when she realized she didn’t know the names of the rest of the people standing outside her house. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, we were looking for Lydia,” said Allison, quickly recovering from the previous shock.

“Well, I’m afraid she’s not here at the moment,” frowned Mrs. Martin. “Why don’t you give her a call?”

“Of course, thanks,” said Allison, smiling.

After they made sure Lydia’s mother had gone far enough to not see them anymore, the group moved back to the opposite side of the street, where their   
cars were parked, and they stood by them for a little, discussing their next move.

“I could talk to her tonight,” suggested Jackson. “I have a date with her. It could be kind of a mood killer, but I’ll do it.”

That was it basically. Stiles asked Scott and Allison to drop him off at home, which they did. They tried to persuade him to join them for the rest of the day, and Stiles had to admit being wanted felt good, but he wanted to be alone with his thoughts for a little while. Some new, confusing thoughts.

What if Derek did care, thought Stiles as he crashed onto his bed. It was unlikely, but what if was asking about Stiles because he really did want to know about what he was feeling? He felt kind of intimated by the thought, but it was kind of a rush.

What the hell am I thinking about?

Derek was his Alpha, and Stiles was part of his pack. He figured it was natural for Derek to be concerned about his well-being without really having a personal interest in it. Like a teacher cares about his students. But Derek hadn’t talked to anyone else, privately.  
I need to stop.

Did Stiles care about Derek? Derek’s face popped up in his head. I guess, he thought. When he’s not out to kill me. Then again, Derek never actually did anything to hurt him. Maybe just playfully push him into walls and charmingly threaten and growl at him. Stiles caught himself smiling.

Immediately, he got up from the bed and blinked frantically, shoving away all thoughts of Derek. He peeled off his jacket and went downstairs after he heard his dad walk back in. He ended up planting himself in front of the television with his father, watching an old movie, which was apparently one of the Sheriff’s favorites.

Stiles liked it when he watched movies with his dad. It was a comfortable silence. Both of them were the kind of people that tend to stay deathly quiet during a film, and they always used to do movie nights when Stiles’ mother was still around. He just felt warm inside. Soon, the movie was over.

“Are you hungry?” his dad asked.

“No, I had lunch with Scott and Allison. Do you want me to get you something? It’s almost four, you haven’t had anything yet.”

“It’s fine son, thanks,” said the Sheriff, appreciating his son’s concern. “What are you doing now?”

“I’m not sure. I guess I’ll just figure it out as I go.”

“Alright, don’t be late.”

Stiles was out of the house again. He really didn’t know what he wanted to do, so he just drove his car to the park. His mother and him always used to take walks through the damp grass whenever they had to talk about something serious. It wasn’t something that always cheered him up, but anything he used to do with his mother, he liked doing it.

He really missed her. The false sense of comfort he had acquired before, when he watched that movie with his father slowly twisted and convulsed into something that ate away inside him. He hoped that after this much time, he’d be able to think about her without feeling like crap. Apparently not.  
Stiles walked through the green, and felt the edges of his jeans getting wet with the cold rainwater remaining on the grass. He looked to the sky, into the grey clouds. They looked menacing, yet comforting. Like Derek, he thought.

Damn it! Where were these fleeting thoughts about Derek coming from? He never used to like him, let alone think about him. Now, whenever he thought of him, he didn’t feel scared or threatened. Something was way off.

Suddenly, in the distance, a pair of yellow eyes glowed where the trees grew thicker. Stiles looked around to see if anyone was watching, and when he made sure he was as alone as it was possible to be, he called out.

“Scott!”

They moved around, but Scott didn’t come forward. Weird, thought Stiles. He started approaching they eyes, when he noticed it.

They were yellow. As in, lemon yellow. Scott’s eyes were hazel. This was another werewolf. Jackson’s were blue, Isaac’s were definitely darker than those, and Derek’s were red. It’s safe to say that Stiles was kind of panicking by this point.

Then they disappeared. Stiles remained looking between the tree trunks for a few seconds before he let out the breath he’d been holding. Whoever it was, they were gone. Stiles thought about what it would be appropriate to do now, and he realized he should tell someone. His hand reached towards his pocket to get his phone, when a voice rang out.

“Stiles?” said a woman’s voice. He hesitated.

“Who are you?” he called again.

“Stiles, get the fuck over here!”

Well, that was unexpected. The command was surprisingly affecting him one hundred per cent, and he did exactly what he was told after looking around one last time. When he got closer, he saw a head of long, blond hair.  
Erica.

“Erica, what the hell are you doing here?” hissed Stiles. He walked a little into the woods, so they were standing right next to each other, but concealed from the rest of the people walking by.

“Running for my life, what does it look like?” she hissed back. Stiles had to admit, that was exactly what it looked like. Her clothes were filthy and torn, she looked pale and weak, and so hungry, Stiles could swear she was restricting herself from eating him.

He was about to say something back when he realized, Boyd was missing.

“Where’s Boyd?” he asked, less agitated, but less calm too.

Erica looked to the ground.

“Oh, no,” Stiles said. “No, he is not dead. He was our age, he just cannot be dead.”

“He’s gone Stiles,” Erica said, sympathetically. “After me and Boyd left the pack, we ran into another one. They attacked us, and we held our own pretty good. But, by the end of the battle, Boyd was so badly hurt, even the healing couldn’t save him. I barely made it myself.”  
Stiles paused to take in the information. “Crap,” he finally concluded, sighing and rubbing his neck. “You know, he told you you’d never make it without him!”

“I know,” she said solemnly, after a pause.

“What, that’s it? You and Boyd drag your asses out of the pack right before the biggest battle we’ve ever had, you almost both get killed, and all you have to say is, ‘I know’?” Stiles almost screamed.

“We didn’t know, Stiles,” said Erica, her tone rising. “We thought we were going to find a new pack, a safer pack, much safer than this one, which half the time is running from a family of hunters that it’s on a first-name basis on with apparently, and risking every member’s life for Derek’s stupid vendetta the   
other half!”

“Hey, Derek warned you before he gave you the bite,” Stiles said, in a hushed tone, much more intimidating than a battle scream. “He told you you’d be risking you lives left and right, and that you’d be on the run every single day of your lives if you didn’t play your cards right. Getting up and leaving when everything doesn’t feel peachy does not qualify you to come back here and talk that kind of crap about him. He’s still your Alpha.”  
Erica stopped and looked in Stiles eyes. She narrowed hers, as if she was examining something.

“I know,” she said, defeated. Her tone was filled with regret now. “That’s why you can’t tell him you saw me. Not only am I going to be humiliated, but I’m pretty sure everyone’s gonna blame Boyd’s death on me. They’d never accept me back, anyways.”

“Wait, do you want to be back? I’m sure everyone’s going to hate you for a little while, but we can always use the members, no matter who they are. Besides, you’re a teenager. You’re built to have people talk shit about you behind your back.”

A grin spread across her face. After almost a month of hiding and running, mostly alone, and worrying all the time, being safe and in the company of a ‘friend’ was more than enough for her. Stiles looked at her up and down. She looked like shit. A shadow of hesitation sprinted across his face, and he grunted. He knew he would have to do the right thing. He grunted.

“Give me a second,” he said. He took a few steps from her, stepping out of the trees, and pulled out his phone. After a couple of minutes he returned.

“Come on, my dad’s out grocery shopping. I’m taking you back to my place.”

“What?” she said, incredulous.

“Don’t be like that; you could use the shower and the food. Where were you gonna go anyways? Come on.”

She took a moment, and her gaze turned towards the ground while she smiled again. “Right, thanks.”

“Here, the Jeep’s this way.”

They walked back to Stiles’ car, talking about Erica’s misadventures. They tried to keep the subject away from Boyd, but all in all, it was awkward at all. Even when they ran out of things to say, Stiles could tell, she was content with silence. Peace and quiet was what she needed right now.

They arrived at his place, and once Stiles checked that his dad hadn’t come home yet, they went in. Stiles explained to her where the bathroom and his room were. He handed her a set of towels and told her she could help herself to anything that fit her in Stiles’ dresser.

“I’m gonna get some lunch/dinner thing going on while you’re in the shower. How’s an omelet sound?” he asked.

“Great, thanks,” she said quietly. Stiles thought she was unnaturally bashful, but he didn’t pay much attention. Probably just exhausted, he thought.  
While he was getting ready to start cooking, he heard the shower turn on. If his father arrived at any point between now, and when Erica was done washing off, he realized he would have to explain to the Sheriff why he had a wet, malnourished young woman walking around upstairs. Stiles decided to put the frying pan away. He was going to take her to the diner.

About twenty minutes later, she was done. She was wearing a hoodie and sweats. She looked strange in Stiles’ clothes, yet very comfortable.

“Does it fit?” he asked.

“At least boys’ sweatpants are comfortable. Although the boxers are something I’m gonna have to get used to,” she answered, jokingly. Stiles noticed she was grateful and looked naturally beautiful without the makeup and the layers of the bad-ass attitude.

“Should we go then?” he said, flashing his keys. “I thought it might be better to eat out, my dad’s bound to come home any minute now.”

“All right, how about the diner?” Erica suggested while walking out the door.

“Perfcet,” Stiles replied, following suit.

Ten minutes later, they were there. Erica ordered two burgers and a milkshake - earning looks from both the waitress and Stiles – while Stiles just wanted   
a milkshake.

It was all… easy. The words flowed easily, the laughter tipped out easily, the cheeky grins flashed easily. It was as if they hadn’t spent the month and a half they had known each other hating each other’s guts and throwing snide comments back and forth. They were both tired and worn down. They didn’t put any effort into pretending to despise the person sitting opposite them, they were themselves, and that clicked.

Before Stiles knew it, Erica had made short work of the two cheeseburgers, and he had to admit, he was impressed.

“Wow,” he said. “A strong eater. Just my kinda girl,” he smiled.

Oops.

Thankfully, they managed to chuckle it off, but it’d still been said. Stiles called over the waitress and asked for the bill first chance he got, just so he could change the subject. Erica didn’t hesitate thanking him twenty million times about everything he’d done today.

“So,” he said. “Should we go?”

Erica’s expression went blank. “Where?”

“Home maybe?” chuckled Stiles.

“Your home?” said asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes, why? Do you want me to take you back to the woods?”

She smiled thoughtfully. “No.”

“Okay, so let’s go,” Stiles said as he was getting up. Erica followed him to the Jeep and they got in. As they were driving back, Erica picked a radio station. It   
was one of Stiles’ favorite songs.

“Alright, so you know the drill?” he said, as he pulled up the hand brake. His dad’s car was there.

“Which drill?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

“I go up, open my window, and you jump up. You can jump up to my window right?”

“Yes,” she said, flashing her claws.

“Okay so my bedroom is that one there,” Stiles said, and pointed to a window. Erica nodded and Stiles got out of the car and into the house.

“Hey dad,” he said, when he found him in the kitchen, trying to read a cookbook. Stiles really wanted to offer his help, but he reminded himself he was   
slightly busy with something else at the moment.

“Hey son…” he said, deep in thought. Stiles stood there awkwardly for a second. “What do you want for dinner,” he asked.

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” Stiles said.

“Then I’m getting Chinese,” said his dad, slamming the book. Stiles smiled and went up the stairs. Making sure to close the bedroom door behind him, he   
opened the window and saw Erica standing below. He made some room for her and she nimbly found her way in.

“Well, that went well,” she said. “Why did you call it ‘the drill’? Does Scott climb in through the windows like a burglar too?”

“No, Scott’s a familiar person, so he uses the door,” explained Stiles. “It’s back when I was harboring Derek as a fugitive that I did this a lot.”

Erica paused, deep in thought.

“How is Derek, by the way?” she asked. “Has he talked about us after we left?”

“Stiles?” his dad called, walking up the stairs. Stiles’ and Erica’s eyes widened simultaneously.

“Behind the door, quickly!” he hissed, waving frantically.

“What?” she asked in a hushed panic.

“The door!”

“Do you have the menu in your room again? I forgot their number!” his dad continued to say as he neared the door. Erica made a huge lunge which would   
have been ridiculous under any other circumstance, but now it was a matter of life and death. She landed clumsily behind the door in the nick of time, and   
Mr. Stilinski walked in.

“You know, I don’t want to put them on speed dial, ‘cause that sounds kind of sad. But then again, I might as well.”

“You know dad,” Stiles stammered, “I don’t think it’s sad at all. Here- Here’s the menu,” he said and pulled it out from a pile of paper on his desk and   
handed it to him, his gaze not once looking away from his dad’s eyes.

His dad took the menu from his eyes, painfully slowly. Erica breathed as discreetly as possible.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” his dad asked, squinting at him.

“Yeah dad, I’m just tired. I’m actually going to bed now,” Stiles replied, with a sigh of a chuckle.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay.”

His dad took a few more seconds and left, Stiles jumping across the room to close the door. He turned around and bumped into Erica. Once the shock wore   
off, he was suddenly aware of just how close he was to her.

“The was a lot more difficult to do with twice the werewolf,” Stiles said, forever trying to keep the mood light.

“What?” breathed Erica, confused.

“Derek,” explained Stiles.

“Oh, right.”

Once the adrenaline had been worn off, they both realized they were both extremely tired, despite it being just after nine o’clock.

“So, how does the sleeping arrangement work?” asked Erica.

“Well, usually, we sleep on the bed,” said Stiles.

That was their cue to slide into Stiles’ bed – it was something between a single and a double – as awkwardly as humanly possible. They were both highly aware of each other and they ended up lying in bed with their backs turned to each other.

Ten minutes later, it was obvious they were both uncomfortable, and Stiles realized he was still in his jeans. He got up.

“I’m gonna change out of these,” he announced.

“Okay,” said Erica. She covered her head with the duvet. Stiles laughed.

He hurriedly put on pajama bottoms and took off his zip-up, staying in his t-shirt and throwing the zip-up in the hamper with his jeans. As he got into bed, Erica took the opportunity to shuffle around and find a comfortable position, so she wouldn’t have to do it later and disturb Stiles’ sleep.  
When they settled, they were facing each other.

And they were close to each other.

“Remember,” Erica said, is a slow and hoarse whisper, “they day that Jackson poisoned me at detention, and I had an epileptic fit?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. He swallowed. “You have the best fits I’ve ever seen.”

Erica chuckled. Then she was serious again.

“I told you I used to have a crush on you that day.”

Stiles paused. “You also told me I make a good Batman.” She smiled.

“I hope you still do.”

She moved in and kissed him, ever so softly.

When she pulled back, Stiles was still in shock. Then, he smiled. He was glad that the last thing he would see before he fell asleep was Erica’s face, in all its natural beauty.

“Me too,” he said. “We’ll find out tomorrow.” She smiled at him and closed her eyes.


	3. The Morning After

When Stiles woke up, he felt something tickling his nose. Moving his head back, he saw it was Erica’s hair.

He was the big spoon.

After a momentary flash of bliss, he moved his entire body back, so that he was only looking at her, and touching her in no way.   
Somehow, having a very, very beautiful girl in his bed didn’t seem as good in reality as it did in his head.

This is a mistake, he thought. She’s had feelings about me for so long now. I just think she’s hot. I can’t do this to her. Still, after   
yesterday, Stiles had a newfound respect for everything that Erica was and stood for. He really understood why she had been so arrogant   
and showy about her wolf, and why she just took off. She used to have to suffer through epileptic fits, and as if they weren’t bad enough,   
everyone mocked her for them. She was in her own personal hell every single day, and after a single bite, she was on top of everything,   
for once in her life. He’d be lying to himself if he’d said that he wouldn’t do the exact same thing.

And now, Stiles got to see the real her. What she was beneath the wolf. Actually, what she was with the wolf, in combination with her old   
self. She was perfect. As if she got to pick the very best traits of both her selves and add them up together to bring into existence this   
wonderful being that was sleeping right in front of his eyes.

Actually, waking up in front of his eyes.

She turned around so that they were facing each other, and rubbed her eyes open.

“Morning,” she smiled.

“Good morning.” He couldn’t keep from smiling back, no matter how much he wanted to not be involved with her, in that way. Then he   
realized, he really didn’t have any reason to not want to be with her. He just had a nagging thought at the back of his head that kept   
saying he shouldn’t be doing this with her.

Fuck you, subconscious, thought Stiles.

“Wait here,” he said, and got out of bed. He went downstairs and looked for his dad, who was apparently still in bed. Stiles and Erica had   
gone to bed early last night, and woke up around nine, finally getting a good night’s sleep to compensate for those long nights and early   
mornings due to pack training and classes during the school week. He was surprised Erica didn’t need more sleep. He walked back up the   
stairs and poked his head through the bedroom door.

“My dad’s still asleep. You want breakfast?” he asked.

“Sure,” she replied. “I’ll use the bathroom and then I’ll help you.”

When the bathroom door clicked shut behind Erica, Stiles rushed to the downstairs washroom, splashed some water on his face, used   
some of the old mouthwash in the mirror and used the toilet, all in record time. 

He had barely gotten in the kitchen before he heard the toilet flush upstairs and the sink turn on. Stiles bent over the counter and rested   
his head in his hands, thinking about what he should make for breakfast. He went to the fridge and looked at its bowels for inspiration.

There’s a few eggs… he thought to himself. Then he made a noise and muttered a ‘maybe’ before he tried to find something else.   
However, he was interrupted.

“Maybe what?” asked Erica. Stiles whipped around to find her standing in the doorway.

“Oh.” His mouth was dry. He took a few seconds. “Eggs?”

“Eggs sound good,” she said with a half-grin. “I was just coming to ask you if you have any spare toothbrushes.”

“Sure, yeah,” Stiles said, and tried to remember where they kept them. Erica, it seemed, made his mind go blank.

How the hell does she do that?

Stiles led the way up the stairs and into the bathroom, where he searched clumsily in every single cabinet before finally locating a   
toothbrush.

“How’s this?” he asked, handing it to her.

“It’s disgusting, I want a pink one.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I’m kidding!” she explained. “What is with you? Your heartbeat is fifty times as fast today.” The smile was gone from her face by now.

“Should I not have kissed you?” she said, with a frown.

“No!” Stiles said, immediately. It might have been the only quick response he’d given her all day. Then he needed a moment to explain   
what was in his head without sounding like a jackass. After all, being honest was always good, wasn’t it?

“It’s just that… this is new to me. This version of you is something different; in a good way. But it’s still different, and change is   
something I don’t, kind of, deal with well. I had fun yesterday though, I just guessed it wouldn’t really last, so, um, what I’m trying to say,   
I guess, is that, things are changing, but I’m trying to deal with it because it’s good.” 

He ended in a question for no reason. The following seconds added up to the second most awkward, embarrassing moment of his entire   
life, the first one being the time period during which he’d actually been making his little ‘speech’.

The silence dragged on and on, all the way to infinity in every single direction comprehensible by the human mind. It swirled around and   
engulfed everything that dared stand in its way, the ominous quietness conquering the land as its own and successfully keeping away any   
chance of any sound providing some kind of resolution to the conversation.

“You are such a girl,” responded Erica, her face once more covered in a ridiculous grin. She turned around and shut the bathroom door in   
his face as she proceeded to brush her teeth.

“So, eggs?” called Stiles.

A few minutes later, he’d already gotten started with the breakfast and had also decided to go with scrambled, because, how do you screw   
up scrambled eggs? when Erica walked back into the kitchen.

She stood next to him as he stood over the stove and watched him in silence while he maneuvered the pan. Every now and then he would   
throw her a smile and try to pull some kind of trick of mixing up the eggs by flipping them, which didn’t exactly fail, but it definitely did   
not succeed. And he was calm again.

It occurred to him that it was in the silence that he was most comfortable. Just being with Erica was the best time of these last couple of   
days. He cooked in silence, and they ate quietly. She complimented his cooking, and they made a joke or two, but that was it.

They were both finishing up when Erica spoke up.

“Your phone’s buzzing.”

“What?”

“Your phone,” she explained. “It’s in your room and it’s buzzing.”

“Oh!” Stiles exclaimed and went up the stairs quickly, careful not to keep her waiting. When he located his mobile, he saw it was Scott. He   
knew Erica could hear him so there was no point in him staying up here. He started making his way back to the kitchen.

“You’re up early,” said Stiles.

“Yeah, you’d be too if Allison had been calling you all morning to find out about Lydia’s reaction,” replied Scott.

“Lydia’s reaction?”

“Jackson told her about joining the pack last night, remember? But neither one of them have been picking up.”

“Right,” said Stiles, still not getting the point. “So why are you telling me?”

“Because I’m coming to pick you up right now and we’re going to Lydia’s. Get ready, I’m almost there.”

Stiles stumbled over the last step and into the kitchen.

“Okay, so I’ll see you soon, bye!” he said nervously and hung up. Erica was staring at him with panic in her eyes.

“Did he just say what I think I heard him say? Is he coming here?”

“Yes, now hide, because he’s gonna be here any minute now,” Stiles said softly, still managing to keep the unbelievable range of emotions   
from affecting his tone.

“There’s no point in hiding, Scott will be able to smell me the second he sets foot in this place,” she replied, not as adept at keeping her   
frantic hand gestures to a minimum.

Stiles thought for a few seconds. The adrenaline was suddenly flowing through his veins, yet again. Too often for a teenager, he thought.   
Scott was going to come over and find Erica in his house, and he would know that he was harboring her in his house and away from   
Derek, and her smell would be all over his bed, and Allison was with him. She was one of the smart ones. She’d know that eventually they   
would have to tell Derek. Stiles and Erica were both screwed if he didn’t figure something out.

“Then he has to stay out of the house,” he declared.

“What?” she exclaimed, her frown deepening still.

“I’ll just wait for him outside, and I’ll get in his car and we’ll leave as soon as he pulls up. He won’t have a chance to walk in.”

“Good plan,” confirmed Erica. “What about my smell all over you?”

“Shit.” Stiles thought for a moment, before adding, “Okay, maybe we can—“

Erica shushed him.

“What?” he asked, more quietly this time. She shushed him again.

Her eyes widened dangerously.

“He just turned into your street.”

As soon as the news registered in Stiles’ head, he sprinted upstairs to change, and thanked every god he knew that his father slept like a   
log. He pulled off practically everything he was wearing before putting his boxers on backwards, and two socks of different colors, as well   
as almost catching his genitals in his jeans’ zip.

He stepped into his shoes and grabbed a bottle of cologne on his way out. Spraying himself, he half-fell, half-ran down the stairs and   
walked past the kitchen door, shoving the cologne in Erica’s hands. He was about to open the door before the bell rang.

“Fuck!” he cursed.

“What? You only smell of me half as much now.”

“Yeah, but that probably woke up my dad.” It was Erica’s turn to sprint up the stairs and into Stiles’ room. He had no idea what the hell   
she was doing, but he didn’t have time to wait. He opened the door.

“Hey Scott,” he said awkwardly.

“Hey,” he half-asked, wondering why his friend was being weird.

“You guys ready to go?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah,” Scott smiled his dumb smile. He went to walk in, but Stiles shoved himself in the door.

“Me too,” he said. “We should leave. Now.” Scott’s brow furrowed, but his smile remained.

“You’re being kind of weird, you know—“

Scott’s face was suddenly void of all emotion. His eyes narrowed as he concentrated and started sniffing like crazy.

“Scott,” Stiles called, trying to stop his friend from smelling the entire house. “Scott, wait.” But, he didn’t listen. Instead, he shoved himself   
inside and started going up the stairs. Stiles followed.

“Would you just listen to me—“ A door bursting open stopped them both in their tracks. It was his dad’s bedroom.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing on a Sunday morning?” he bellowed. Whatever either Stiles or Scotts’ feelings were, they were   
now replaced by fear. Mr. Stilinski was not a morning person.

“Nothing, j-just go back to bed dad,” Stiles stammered, and grabbed the back of Scott’s jacket, practically dragging him out of the house   
and to the car. Allison watched them with her eyebrows raised. Once they were both inside, with Stiles in the back seat, Scott immediately   
spilled everything. If there was one thing he knew, it was that Allison was the kind of person you wanted on your side.

“I just walked into Stiles’ house, and I swear I could smell Erica all over it!”

Allison’s eyebrows were so high up now, they almost fused with her hair.

“What?” she spat, turning to Stiles, demanding an explanation. “Erica?”

Stiles choked on his words. “What? No! What are you talking about?” lying really badly.

“Dude, you’ve been turning into a really bad liar lately,” said Scott, nodding frantically.

“Bro secret!” Stiles exclaimed desperately.

“What?” Allison asked, more confused than ever.

“No!” Scott complained.

“I’m calling Bro Secret,” Stiles announced, and crossed his arms, satisfied.

“Stiles, what the hell are you talking about?” asked Allison. Scott turned around and buried himself in his seat, with his arms crossed, his   
brow furrowed and a low growl constantly emitting from his throat, like a little child who just doesn’t get his way.

“It’s a deal I made with Scott. Bro Secrets are secrets we can keep from each other and neither one can say anything about it or question   
the strength of our trust.”

Allison closed her eyes to calm herself down. She didn’t believe that she used to be in love with one of these fools. Actually, still was, but   
that was a different story.

“Well, I’m not your bro, tell me,” she said, calmly.

“Oh,” Stiles said, realizing his plan hadn’t actually worked. “No.”

Allison pinched his nipple. “Tell me!”

“Ow! Stop hurting me!”

“Tell me now!” She pinched the other one.

“Ow!” he yelled louder. “Fine!” Scott turned back around, curious. Allison waited quietly, but she was obviously at the ready to let her   
fingers loose once more if the need arose. After sighing multiple times, he began.

“Erica was in my house.”

“When?” Scott asked.

“Yesterday,” said Stiles, solemnly. He paused. “And today.”

“Today!” Allison exclaimed. “Is she still in there?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles answered, truthfully. “When you guys came here, she ran up to my room. Might have jumped out the window, I don’t   
know.”

“No, I was here the whole time,” said Allison, thinking. “I would have noticed if somebody was hanging out you window. Which means   
she’s still in your room.”

“Wait,” said Scott. “She’s in your room.”

“I guess,” Stiles said.

“And she was here yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“Did she sleep over?”

“No, I made her sleep down the street.”

“Stiles!” Allison urged, now picking up on Scott’s train of thought.

“Yes, she slept over.”

“Is that why you put on so much cologne today?” Scott asked. “Did something happen with the two of you last night?”

Stile’s face suddenly drained of all color. He certainly wasn’t expecting Scott to piece something like that together.

“I—Um—“ Stiles fumbled with the words, but no phrase was forming. After a few seconds he decided the best thing he had to do was get   
the hell out of there. “I’ll go get her.” He jumped out of the car and went into the house. 

No way in hell I’m telling them we kissed and cuddled all through the night, he thought.

He was glad to see that his father had indeed gone back to bed. When he walked into his room, it was empty.

“Erica?” he whispered loudly.

“Stiles?” she called back.

“Where are you?”

The wardrobe doors burst open and she stumbled out.

“Why isn’t their car leaving?” she asked, confusion on her face.

“Well…” he began. “Scott might have realized you’re here and they’re waiting for me to get you so… Yeah.”

Erica closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. When her rage was in check, she responded.

“What?” she spat.

“There was nothing I could do!” he complained to defend himself. “Scott smelled you and they could both tell I was lying when I said it   
wasn’t you!”

“Couldn’t you have said it was another girl, or something? Scott would have believed that it was someone else’s smell!”

“Allison was in the car! You think she’d believe that some girl slept over and I hadn’t told them already?”

Erica frowned in thought.

“Fine.” As Stiles led the way, she continued. “That’s really pathetic, by the way.”

“Story of my life.”

As soon as both Allison and Scott noticed someone walking out of the house, their heads snapped up.

Scott smiled, but Allison’s glare remained cold. After all, the fact that Erica had tried to break her up with Scott didn’t put her on the list of   
her Top 5 Favorite people, an emotion which was mutual, since Erica almost died from Allison’s bow once. Stiles opened the door to the   
back seat and they both sheepishly got in without a word. The awkwardness was palpable.

“So…” said Stiles.

“Hey Erica,” began Scott.

“Hi.” A pause.

“Are you okay?” he continued.

“Yes,” she replied. “You?”

“Me too, yeah.”

“Allison?”

“I’m good,” she said, with a smile. It might have been a fake one, but at least Allison cared enough to make it. After the short banter,   
there was silence once more. Scott broke it.

“Who wants to go to Lydia’s, then?”

“Me,” said Allison, in an obviously relieved tone that they had something to do instead of just sitting around carefully examining the   
insides of the vehicle, turned around, and started to put the car in gear.

“Wait,” Erica interjected. “Is everyone finding out that I’m back? Because if Derek knows—“

“Nothing’s gonna happen if Derek knows,” interrupted Stiles. “You’re his Beta, for fuck’s sake. And he can’t afford to not accept you. I   
already told you, we need everyone we can get. Plus, Derek’s a nice guy, he’ll get it.”

They all turned to him, and Allison scoffed.

“Since when do you think Derek is a nice guy?”

“Isn’t he?”

“Well, he threatens to kill you all the time.”

“I just meant, nicer.”

“Everyone’s gonna find out eventually though,” said Scott, bringing the subject back to the matter at hand. “I mean, it’s only been a day   
and half the pack knows.” After Erica rationalized it in her head she just slumped in her seat and sighed while burying her face in her   
hands.

“Fine,” she muttered.

The drive to Lydia’s house was short and uneventful. Nothing but small talk was exchanged; Allison and Scott seemed particularly   
uninterested in Erica and what she had been doing while she was missing in action. Stiles wondered if Allison had ordered Scott to not   
appear interested in what she had to say, just to spite her. 

But, Allison isn’t that kind of girl, is she? 

It was too passive-aggressive a thing for Allison, to be mad at Erica just because she’d tried to break her up with Scott. Plus, they were   
both supposedly single, so they were free to do what they wanted, even if they were both spent just as much time with each other, as if   
they had never broken up.

When they arrived at Lydia’s house, all of them highly aware of each other, Erica walked completely at the back, just behind Stiles, with   
Allison and Scott taking the lead. Ringing the bell produced more of a jarring sound than what was expected by any of them. Seconds   
later, footsteps were approaching the door from inside. It opened slowly.

“Well, this just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” said Lydia, after she took a look at the group. “I thought you’d moved away,” she said   
to Erica, narrowing her eyes.

“No,” Erica said simply. Lydia turned around dramatically and walked back in. After a moment’s hesitation, the group followed her. Inside,   
sitting on the living room sofas, were Jackson and Isaac.

Derek was standing above them.

His eyebrows raised a little and his mouth opened ever so slightly when he saw his old pack member standing in front of him, while   
Erica’s return seemed totally uninteresting to Jackson. Isaac, on the other hand, practically jumped over the couch and grabbed Erica tight   
in his arms. Stiles was impressed by the display of an emotional range on Isaac’s part. Maybe they really did have the capacity care about   
others, they just didn’t show it.

“I thought you were dead,” chuckled Isaac, never letting her go. Erica’s expression was twisted with pain, and her eyes looked everywhere   
but into her former Alpha’s. Eventually, she just spat out the words.

“Boyd died!”

Isaac slowly let her go and looked at her, confused and all signs of his previous happiness suddenly gone.

“What?”

“We got attacked, and they got him,” she said softly, as if she were a small child expecting a scolding. It seemed to Stiles that in her eyes,   
she was the one to blame for Boyd’s death.

“Wait, Boyd?” suddenly Lydia piped up. “As in that big black guy from our year?” Scott nodded to her. She went and sat down, and her   
words were laced with a hint of a chuckle of disbelief.

“I can’t believe someone from out year was murdered! And you expect me to join you people? You risk your lives on a daily basis!”

“Erica,” Derek commanded. She closed her eyes, while he walked past her and opened the front door, holding it open. “A word?”

She let out a heavy sigh. “Sure.” Stiles knew that a door wouldn’t make much of a difference to half the people in the room, who had   
super-hearing, but she followed him anyway, with hesitating footsteps.

Isaac remained standing where he was, as if the news had punched him in the stomach. Allison put a hand on his back, while Stiles   
decided it was time for him to actually be doing something besides worrying this lovely Sunday morning. He grabbed Scott and Lydia, and   
sat her between the two of them on the couch opposite the one Jackson was sitting on.

“Lydia,” he began. “Being a part of this pack doesn’t mean being a wolf yourself. You can choose whether or not you want to be a human.   
I’m still a human!”

“Yeah, but you’re still risking your life just as much, if not more. Doesn’t being a human pack member make you even more fragile?”

Damn. Stiles had forgotten she was one of the smart ones. She hid it well.

“But I thought you were immune to the bite. So even if you wanted to be a werewolf, you couldn’t,” said Scott, forever confused.

“Well isn’t that encouraging!” she exclaimed, and stood up in her frustration.

Stiles could never forget that Scott, on the other hand, was not.

“That doesn’t mean that you can’t do anything! Look at me, I shoot arrows and use knives, but I’m no werewolf. I can defend myself just   
as well, and not just that, I can actually put up a pretty strong offence.”

“No offence sweetie, but not everyone was born and raised in a family of professional hunters,” said Lydia softly. Scott was still stupidly in   
awe of the confidence Allison was radiating.

“Look, Lydia,” interrupted Jackson, frustrated. “If you want to join the damn pack, just say so. All I’m gonna say is, even when I was just a   
human, even when I barely knew anything about anything, I still had guns pointing at me every now and then.” He got up and approached   
her.

“What I’m trying to say is that once you set a single foot in this world, there’s no turning back. You might want to consider being in this   
one hundred per cent.”

Lydia blinked furiously and turned around. She opened her mouth to say something but decided against it. Instead, she walked quickly up   
the stairs, and slammed her bedroom door behind her, loudly. Stiles was suddenly aware that her parents might be home. He was also   
suddenly aware that Derek was standing next to him.

Erica walked past him and sat next to Isaac, on the third couch. Scott had already moved next to him, and they were both talking in   
hushed voices. Allison was saying something to Jackson, but Stiles didn’t care about that. Erica looked so sad, he just wanted to hug her   
until she felt better. But this was neither the time, nor the place.

“So,” Derek began. “How long has she been staying in your house?”

“Um…” Stiles regretted that very instant the fact that he had ever considered calling him nice. “Since yesterday, I think?”

“You think? Do you think I’m that stupid or is your memory just that bad?”

“Well, I’m no goldfish, but…” Stiles trailed off.

“And why didn’t you tell me anything about my pack member?” asked Derek, doing a bad job at hiding his anger.

“I just figured, she was an Omega, right? So, she wasn’t in anyone’s pack, which means there was no reason to worry your little head   
about her.”

“Stiles, don’t mess with me,” Derek growled through gritted teeth.

“Not even a little bit?” Derek decided he needed to find a way to shut him up without actually shoving a fist into his mouth.

“You mind telling me why she has your scent all over her?” Derek asked quietly. So much so, that only the wolves could hear. Every head   
besides Allison’s discreetly turned towards Stiles’ direction. He needed a quick excuse.

“She’s wearing my clothes,” he said nervously. Derek leaned into his ear. Stiles could swear that at one instant he could feel Derek’s   
stubble on his neck. Allison was watching too, now. Chills sprinted up and down his entire body.

“Not your comforter. Your scent.”

“What? You jealous?”

Derek lunged at Stiles and pushed him up against a wall, pressing his forearm across Stile’s chest, suppressing his breath. The bang   
shook the entire house. Stiles head was turned to the side, and his entire body was paralyzed as Derek’s face was practically an inch away   
from his, eyes glowing red and fangs out for the full effect.

“Do you have a death wish?” Derek threw at him. Stiles had to admit, his non-existent brain-to-mouth filter had gotten him in pretty hairy   
situations several times before.

“What, you’re actually gonna kill me in Lydia’s living room?”

“Would you rather I do it outside?”

Stiles gulped.

“What the hell are you doing to my house? You’d better—“ Lydia stopped dead in her tracks halfway down the staircase as she saw what   
was happening.

“What is wrong with you two?” she screamed.

“Hey, Lydia,” stammered Stiles, as Derek released the pressure from his chest.

“Get out!” she continued yelling.

“What?” Stiles said.

“Both of you! Out, now!” Stiles turned and looked at the rest of his friends for some support, but Allison just whispered in his ear.

“Stiles, let’s just give her what she wants right now. We can try and convince her ourselves, don’t worry. “

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Stiles whined as he rushed to get to the door several seconds before Derek, now careful to keep a certain   
distance between the two of them at all times.

As soon as he was out of the house, Stiles decided to go wait in the car. He got in the passenger seat before he thought about taking the   
car and leaving. He was just shoved out of a huge pack moment. How could they let Lydia do that to him? He was one of the original   
members of this pack. Hell, Erica wasn’t back in the pack until a little while ago and Lydia trusted her to stay in her house over Stiles.

Even if she is back in, Stiles thought.

In all his anger and distress, he realized he had no idea what Derek had told Erica. He thought about waving at him from across the street   
to come over, but as soon as he turned to look at Derek, he was right outside the window, making Stiles jump in his seat. Derek opened   
the door and got into the driver’s seat.

“Is Erica going to be back in the pack?” asked Stiles, taking the subject into his hands, and away from any death threats. For now.

“You seem to care about Erica an awful lot lately.”

“Just tell me,” Stiles said, ignoring the comment. Derek had calmed down significantly since the incident inside. He talked quietly now.

“You tell me first: did you sleep together last night?”

Stiles’ jaw dropped.

“What?”

“Did the two of you sleep together last night?”

“Uh—We, just slept in the same bed, nothing more! And how the hell is it any of your business?”

“I need to know what goes on in my pack, Stiles. I can’t have you starting a relationship with Erica.”

“Well that’s fine! Because nothing happened!”

“Stiles you’re lying, and I know it. Stop lying.” 

Stiles drew in a breath for a response, and when he couldn’t think of anything, he let it go. Derek was just getting weirder and weirder   
over the days. Then he thought of a response.

“I didn’t see you forbidding Scott and Allison from fucking their brains out when they were together.”

Derek raised his eyebrows, and turned towards Stiles.

“I thought you told me nothing happened,” he said inquisitorially. 

“Nothing did! But if it did, how would it be different from those two?”

Derek looked back outside the window, and took a few seconds to reply.

“Erica is unstable.”

Stiles’ eyebrow furrowed.

“What?” he said, incredulous.

“Erica was just running for her life this past month. She’d probably latch herself onto anyone right now. I don’t need you messing with her   
head. Just let her focus on training.”

“So you let her back in?”

Derek clicked his tongue. “Yes. But promise me.”

“You know, she’s had crush on me for long time now. She told me some time before all the Kanima business even got serious. It’s not just   
a short-time thing, I don’t think you should—“

“I don’t care, Stiles! You just can’t. Promise me.” Derek interjected. Stiles was not expecting this at all. He just sat and looked at Derek.

“Fine,” said Stiles sourly, and sat straight in his seat, crossing his arms. They both sat there for what seemed like forever. The minutes   
passed dreadfully slowly, and Stiles was hoping for the front door of the house to burst open, even if it framed Lydia shoving everyone out   
of her house.

And Derek. Who the hell was he to be talking to him about what he was supposed to do with his own damn romantic life? This was   
probably the only thing that had ever happened in it ever since he fell in love with Lydia years ago, and his obsession had been growing   
ever since.

Stiles was sure that Derek got this feeling that he could boss him around just because he practically couldn’t do anything to him. What   
was Stiles gonna do? Run around the woods in hopes that he would find come wolfsbane to wave in Derek’s face and actually have some   
sort of defense against his violent slashing claws? 

Stiles’ entire life revolved against the supernatural now, and his own humanity was his biggest weakness against it. He thought about   
getting Derek so pissed, that he would bite him, and then maybe he could finally feel useful. If he went wolf, willingly, it’d probably   
convince Lydia to join the pack, too. Stiles irrationally concluded that it was a good idea.

“Derek.” 

He grunted in response.

“Would you give me the bite?”

“What?” Derek stared at him with a face contorted with confusion and surprise.

“Would you give me the bite?” Stiles repeated, showing his teeth at the word ‘bite’ to put his point across as vividly as possible.

“What, now?” Derek spread his hands, gesturing to their current environment.

“I’m sorry, do you need a week’s notice?”

“What I mean,” Derek replied, with his voice struggling to remain at an even tone, “is that maybe there could be a better time and place for   
it. Why do you want it all of a sudden?”

“It’s not all of a sudden, I’ve always kind of wanted it. Just, now, I maybe want it a little more than usual.”

Derek looked outside and sighed heavily.

“Come on,” he said, and got out of the car. Stiles followed him.

“What, are we really doing this?” Stiles called after him, half in excitement, and half in fear.

“Just follow me Stiles.” Derek got in his Camaro, and expertly pulled out of his parking spot. The following drive mainly consisted of Stiles   
asking every single question that came to him, with Derek giving answers like ‘Wait, you’ll see,’ and, ‘Be patient.’

Once they arrived, Derek turned off the engine and stepped out.

“What the hell are we doing here?” Stiles asked.


	4. The Magic Begins

“What the hell are we doing here?” Stiles asked.

“Stiles, you’ve been in this mess for far too long, and you’re still human. Getting the bite should be your last option to feel ‘useful’.”

“And also you need to get your pet cat ‘fixed’?” Stiles asked, and followed Derek into Dr. Deaton’s office. The bell jingled merrily, a   
jarring contrast with the heated conversation going on inside between the doctor and Ms. Morrell, the school guidance counselor.   
They both turned to face the Alpha and his pack member.

“Stiles,” Dr. Deaton greeted. “Derek,” with grief added to his tone. “Anything we can help you with, boys?”

“One of my pack members needs your help,” explained Derek inadequately.

“He seems fine,” Dr. Deaton replied.

“I meant in training,” said Derek.

“Training in what?” asked Stiles. Ms. Morrell scoffed, but otherwise remained silent. Stiles noted she wasn’t as nice outside of school.

“Just some basic spells, useful in a fight,” said Derek, to the vet. “Something to get his mind off asking for the bite and make him feel   
useful before he calls up Peter and asks him to turn him.”

“Uh, I’m right here!” exclaimed Stiles, offended by the fact that he was objectified so.

“And why would I share my years of research with one of your pack members?” replied the doctor. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever been talked about so rudely in front of his face before.

“Because I happen to recall a certain promise you made to my mother, to take care of any and all of my family members whenever the   
need arose.”

Ms. Morrell crossed her arms. Stiles had no idea what they were talking about, but he could tell that things were getting serious, so he   
stopped whining. Then he realized what Derek had just referred to him as.

Family.

“Very well,” responded Dr. Deaton. “But we’re going to need a test dummy throughout the training sessions. Care to offer?” he   
continued snidely, with narrowed eyes. Derek’s jaw clenched, and a low growl emitted from his throat.

“Fine,” he said. Ms. Morrell turned to Dr. Deaton.

“Do you need me to stay for this?”

“I think I should be fine,” responded the vet, his stare deep into Derek’s eyes never breaking. The French teacher walked past them,   
her heels clicking loudly in the quietness, and walked out, once more causing the bell to ring.

“Come with me,” he said, and led Stiles and Derek into the examination room in the back. There was a cat in a cage there, which went   
crazy as soon as it saw Derek.

“Excuse me,” said Dr. Deaton, and grabbed the cage to take it to the room with all the other animals that were being kept there. As   
soon as he left the room, Stiles turned to Derek.

“What the hell?” he hissed.

“What?” Derek said, only slightly defensive, as if he saw nothing wrong with his actions. “Didn’t you want to be able to contribute to   
the fights?”

“You know, when I said that thing about waving the wolfsbane in your face as a form of defense, I wasn’t joking!”

“Dr. Deaton is the expert of this town. Do you really think that’s the only kind of defense his years of research have yielded?”

Deaton walked back into the room and all was quiet once more. Stiles was rather curious as to see what would happen, and he didn’t   
even know why he was so upset with Derek; he just was. That was usually the case.

“So, Stiles, if I remember correctly, you have had some experience with the elements. More specifically, the mountain ash. You both   
know how violently it caused Gerard to react to the bite.”

Stiles gulped as images of that night flashed through his head. The black puddles of whatever that liquid was supposed to be were as   
foul and rotten as can be. Deaton unlocked a drawer and pulled it open, and then proceeded to pry up the false bottom. From within,   
he extracted a small hand-written notebook, bound in sandy leather. 

“Why don’t you start off reading this? Once you’ve skimmed through it, come back and we can start the practical part of this…   
teaching process,” he said calmly. Stiles wondered if this man’s heart rate ever went above normal.

“Thanks?” Stiles said, confused, but took the book into his hand anyway. It was light.

“It’s natural to feel puzzled at this point,” said Deaton. “That book contains most of the basic information you need to know. The more   
advanced things, they will come to you through practice.” Stiles couldn’t tell if that was meant to be an ominous comment or not.

“Thank you. Have a good Sunday,” Derek said, unnaturally polite and started walking towards the exit. Stiles expected that there was   
to be more explanation, but he clumsily threw a ‘thanks’ and followed outside. The bell jingled once more. They were both quiet until   
they got into the Camaro.

“So now what? I read a book about,” Stiles paused as he flicked the pages and looked at the sketches, “plants and the moon?”

“Yes, Stiles. You do what Dr. Deaton tells you. And what you don’t do is become a werewolf,” Derek said, coming off very commanding   
as he started the car.

“Since when do you care if I get the bite or not? You—“ Stiles stopped as the car suddenly accelerated and he was pushed into his seat   
by the force.

“The bite either turns you, or kills you Stiles. Kills you. Have you even thought of that?” much more serious now. He kept his gaze on   
the road, and Stiles realized he didn’t even know where they were going.

“What about the fantastic trio? Isaac, Boyd and Erica. You practically did everything you needed to get them to accept. And that’s not   
saying much, since you went after the ones who were the most likely to want a life-changing bite.”

“That was different, Stiles. I was helping them. You’re already in the pack, why would you want to change now? What happens if you   
actually do die? I can’t afford to be losing pack members right now, there’s going to be trouble coming our way soon,” his voice   
getting louder.

“Don’t you act like this is about pack members,” said Stiles, offended that Derek was using such an obviously fake excuse and   
expected him to believe it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean that you’re lying.” Derek didn’t respond.

Stiles scoffed and sat straight in his seat. “Whatever,” he muttered under his breath. Derek was not something he could deal with   
without having his pulse rise.

“Why is your heart beating faster?” Stiles threw him a confused look, but Derek never turned his eyes from the road. His hands, were at   
ten and two, as well. He was driving perfectly.

“What?”

“Why is your heart beating faster now?” Derek repeated, and pointed to his own heart.

“How the hell should I know? Probably because you’re pissing me off.”

At this, Derek turned on his turning signal and took a small road off to the right, very suddenly.

“What the hell are you doing!” Stiles yelled, as soon as he was able to say that he was in his seat once more.

“I make you angry too much.”

Stiles took a moment to realize what was happening. Derek was officially being as weird as it was possible to be.

“Uh…”

“It’s not supposed to be like this within the pack, Stiles. I’m supposed to be the Alpha, the one respected by his pack members,” said   
Derek. He was growing upset himself now, but not in an angry way. In a hurt, confused way. The road suddenly ended, and the car   
was now rolling on soft, damp leaves. Off in the distance, Stiles could see Derek’s house, and he was thankful to know where the hell   
he was being taken. But, all this was way back inside the dark depths of his mind. The focus was on Derek’s behavior. Stiles suddenly   
felt guilty that he caused so much trouble for Derek.

“Okay,” said Stiles thoughtfully. “So now what?” willing to do something to ease his mind of the distress he’d been causing.

“Now, we go to my house,” Derek sighed. “You’re gonna try using a spell or two, maybe seeing all this stuff in effect might actually get   
you interested in it.”

Stiles was shocked. Derek was just desperately trying to do something to convince him from risking his life. He had never seen Derek   
speak with such sincerity, without all the mystery and the brooding looks. Appearing tough while being fragile on the inside seemed   
to be a trait shared by all werewolves.

Stiles was quiet for the rest of the ride, which was only a minute short. When the car pulled up outside the house, Stiles remembered   
something.

“What was that about Dr. Deaton making a promise to your mother?”

Derek threw a look at Stiles and shut the car door behind him. He headed for the house.

“Come on,” Derek said, recovering his usual attitude and tone.

“Wait, Derek—“ Stiles ran after him. Once they were inside, Derek took off his leather jacket and threw it over the back of the couch.

“Derek,” Stiles called.

“Open your book,” Derek urged him, ignoring the questions. He kept his gaze hard on the little leather bound thing in Stiles’ hand,   
and looked nowhere else. Especially not in Stiles’ eyes.

“Why won’t you tell me?” Stiles asked, louder.

“Because it’s none of your business, Stiles now just drop it!” Derek yelled. He was staring Stiles dead in the eyes. After a little while,   
Stiles looked down at the notebook.

“Fine,” he said, obviously not fine. He opened it and said, “Now what?”

“Find the spell about the spark.” Stiles started thumbing through the pages while being fully aware that he had no idea how he would   
know when he found it. He considered asking Derek how he knew so much of this stuff, but having a conversation with him was not   
something he felt up to right now.

He passed a page that had a little doodle of what looked like a firework. Quickly, he went back and looked for it. When he found it, he   
realized the page was actually titled ‘Spark’, in scratchy handwriting.

“Found it,” Stiles announced, in a low tone. It was as if whenever Derek seemed to act like a big, brooding, jerk, which was almost   
always, Stiles was definitely going to be fighting with him.

“Now read it,” he instructed Stiles, who let out a heavy sigh, but read anyway.

“A spark can be used for many reasons,” he started. “There is use for it in everyday use, like cooking and basic survival, or in more   
extreme situations like combat. In each possible scenario, the magnitude of the spell varies, ranging from barely visible to a raging   
fireball.” Stiles was getting interested.

“Then, there’s sketches of hand gestures,” he announced, which was true. They were titled ‘Steps’.

“Okay, do them,” Derek simply said. He proceeded to take a step towards Stiles, so that they were only a couple of feet away from   
each other, and widened the space between his feet.

“What are you doing?” Stiles said quietly, confused.

“Preparing,” Derek explained, and motioned his hand for Stiles to keep going, who shook his head and began memorizing the steps.   
There were only four, the first one being ‘Visualize the spark you wish to create in your head.’

Stiles thought of a small flame, one similar in size to the kind of flame emerging from an everyday lighter. Then, after he clumsily   
copied the hand movements from the book, just to practice them, he set it down on top of Derek’s jacket, and looked at him.

“Should I do it?”

“Yes,” Derek said. 

“You know this isn’t going to work, right? There’s no such thing as magic.”

“Werewolves are real, why not magic?”

Stiles sighed, and for a moment wished he was home, but he closed his eyes anyway. He thought of the flame, and did the first hand   
gesture. 

Then he mimicked the second one, and he felt chills on his arms.

What the hell? Maybe this is actually going to work.

His heart was beating fast as he completed the final step. Suddenly, a warm feeling filled him up, like everything was normal once   
again, and he was safe from all harm. When he opened his eyes, he expected to see the flame.

There was nothing.

“See?” Stiles said, with an expression that left no room for doubt that he wasn’t already fed up with this little book. “Nothing is   
happening.”

“Try again,” Derek said, with a decisive nod, as if he had all the time and patience in the world.

“Come on—“

“Just do it!” Derek commanded, but this command was different. His lips weren’t pursed, and his eyebrows were raised instead of   
furrowed. Stiles felt like Derek was his dad teaching him how to ride a bike. “Don’t think of anything too big, you’re not experienced   
enough to be throwing fireballs all over the place.”

Stiles made a confused, incredulous expression and clicked his tongue in annoyance. Next thing you know, Derek was going to be   
making fun of him about being unable to make fire with his hands.

He closed his eyes once more, and visualized a small spark. He was about to bring his hands up in front of him, when Derek talked   
and he opened his eyes.

“Remember, you have to believe it. Like the time at the rave. If you believe it, it’s going to happen.” Derek’s tone was caring, and his   
expression urged him on like he really thought Stiles could do it. Stiles found this unusual, but oddly comforting. He closed his eyes a   
third time.

Bringing his hands up once more, he visualized the spark.

Come on, he told himself.

He completed the first movement.

I believe it.

He made the second gesture.

Spark! he commanded.

He finished the spell.

A sudden feeling of pain emerged from his hands and he pulled them away while yelping, in surprise more than anything else.

“Ow! That went really wrong this time!”

“Actually, you did it,” Derek said. He had a smile upon his face, a smile so discreet, its magnitude could be compared to the relief a   
single drop of rain falling in the center of the Sahara desert could provide to the barren land. However, it was still smile. “You just   
didn’t direct it. It fell back on your hand and you burned yourself.”

“Oh,” Stiles replied simply, while he let the information register. Then, a smile broke across his face as well. “I did it!” He laughed in   
triumph and raised his fists.

Now, Derek chuckled. Stiles had never seen him bare his teeth in a non-aggressive way before. The smiling Derek looked good. He   
was warm and approachable.

“Hey!” somebody yelled, disrupting the happiness. Stiles was suddenly looking around to find the source, turning round and round,   
like dog chasing his tail.

“Stiles!” Derek called. Stiles calmed down and looked at Derek, whose arms were crossed, and face bore the familiar, hard expression.

“Janice?” he said, pointing a thumb to the back part of the house, were the stairs to the basement were located.

“Oh, right,” Stiles remembering the kidnapping victim downstairs.

“Come on,” Derek instructed, and walked to the stairs. Stiles complied. The steps creaked, and the door much more so. Inside was   
Janice, in the same position as Stiles had seen her yesterday. He wondered if Derek was indeed providing any nourishment for her.

“What do you want?” Derek asked.

“To be let go,” she said snidely, jangling the chain behind her back.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” Derek replied. Janice raised her chin and narrowed her eyes at Derek, thinking about something.

“You know, Houdini chained himself up and escaped every single time,” she began. Derek scoffed, and continued staring daggers at   
her. “People thought it was magic, but in reality he was just, really, really flexible,” she continued.

“He did yoga,” she whispered, sharing her secret.

“Why don’t you tell me why I should care, now?” Derek asked condescendingly. She smirked.

“I was a yoga instructor,” she snarled. What she was saying registered too late. She whipped the thick chain at Derek’s head, and it hit   
home. Derek fell on all fours, trying to steady himself, but Janice took the opportunity to punch him in the stomach and flee through   
the door. Derek let out a grunt, and put his hand on the wall as he stood back up. He was about to clumsily run after her, when a   
strong, pungent scent hit his nostrils.

Blood, and not his own.

He looked to Stiles, only to find him on the ground, with a large gash along his upper body, grunting and coughing in pain. 

“No!” Derek screamed, and dropped back down, next to Stiles. He wanted to grab him in his arms, but he was afraid to touch even his   
little toe, in case he caused him more pain than that which he was already in.

“Stiles, stay still, I’m gonna call Dr. Deaton, and I’m coming back. Don’t worry,” he whimpered unconvincingly and ran up the stairs in   
search for his phone. He grabbed his jacket and forced his hand into the breast pocket, fishing out his phone. When he dialed the   
number, the ringing tones seemed to go on for an eternity and more.

“Hello?” answered Deaton calmly.

“Stiles was attacked, he’s at my house! Come here now!” Derek growled. If Deaton could see Derek, he probably wouldn’t have been as   
intimidated as he had been, because he’d be seeing a pathetic, broken version of the usual Derek, with tears in his eyes and dust on   
his clothes.

“I’m on my way,” simply responded Deaton and hung up. Even before the line was broken, Derek could hear some panicked shuffling   
around, and he was grateful that Deaton understood the urgency of the situation, whether he liked the Alpha, or not.

Derek shoved the phone into his front pocket and hurried back into the basement. He saw Stiles and paused for a moment at the   
door, completely paralyzed by the sight, and not knowing what to do. Then, he fell to his side a second time.

“Stiles?” he called. Stiles didn’t respond, but his eyes were just a little bit open and Derek could still hear a heartbeat. He called him   
again, this time louder. Stiles grunted.

“Stiles, I need you to stay awake. Open your eyes, Stiles.” Derek was literally on his knees begging Stiles to stay conscious, and he laid   
a hand on his head to rub it softly, as if it eased the pain.

A tear fell from Derek’s eyes and landed on Stiles’ cheekbone, and Stiles’ eyelids jerked. His eyes were half-open now.

“Derek?” he breathed.

“Stiles!” Derek exclaimed with a sorrowful smile. “You have to stay awake!”

Stiles contemplated it for a moment, and his gaze turned back to the ceiling.

“Okay.”

Derek couldn’t wait for Dr. Deaton to get there, he had to do something himself, so he put his other hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and   
applied a little pressure. Stiles winced slightly as the movement caused his huge wound to spike with pain.

Suddenly, the pain lessened. Not by much, but it was just enough for Stiles to be more responsive. He moved his head a little bit in   
time to see Derek’s forearm’s veins turn black and sickly as they carried the malicious pain away from his own body.

“Thanks,” Stiles croaked. Derek was torn between being happy with the fact that he had lessened his pain, or worried because he knew   
that it didn’t ensure that Stiles would survive.

“Stiles, you’re losing a lot of blood,” said Derek, the worried side of him winning over. He wasn’t sure why he said that. Probably   
because sharing your worries makes them appear less threatening, though he was sure something like that was already on Stiles’ mind.

“I know,” Stiles said. “But Deaton is coming, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“Okay, so we wait.”

Derek realized that even though Stiles was the one about to bleed out on the ground, he was the one comforting Derek, but the sound   
of Deaton’s car pulling up outside tore him away from Stiles again.

“He’s here, I’ll go bring him,” Derek announced as he got up. “Stay awake,” he shouted and ran back up the stairs, opening the front   
door as soon as the doctor was about to knock it.

“Come on, he’s in the basement,” instructed Derek, and began, expecting that Deaton would follow him.

“In the basement? No, bring him up here. Set him on the kitchen table.”

At that, Deaton went into the kitchen and opened his medical kit, and started spreading out his necessary supplies over the   
countertop. Derek had a small moment of hesitation, where he considered telling him that there wasn’t any time to waste, but he   
knew arguing would only take even more time.

When he found Stiles again, he put his hand under his head first.

“I’m gonna have to lift you up, and take you to the kitchen. Are you ready?”

Stiles closed his eyes and exhaled heavily through his nose.

“No, but do it anyway.”

Derek moved his arm under Stiles shoulders, and his other under his knees. Lifting him up was a massive challenge, not because he   
couldn’t take his weight, but because the wounded flesh on Stiles’ abdomen was churning against itself, making suppressed grunts of   
pain emit from Stiles, and Derek didn’t want to be the one to be causing it.

He moved as swiftly as he could, and when he got to the kitchen, Deaton had already put on latex gloves. As he set him on the table’s   
surface, he turned to Deaton for a look of approval, just to make sure he was putting him down as the doctor wanted him. Instead, he   
saw a look of shock and confusion.

“You can help him, right?”

“Yes…” he said slowly. “It’s just that the size of the wound is much bigger than I would have expected… Take his clothes off,” he   
concluded. Derek peeled off his jacket and used his claws to rip the t-shirt off him.

Deaton turned around and shuffled through his bag and pulled out a box of matches. On a plate that he had pulled out of one of the   
cabinets was a flower of wolfsbane. Taking another look at the wound, the doctor decided it was a good idea to get another flower.

“You might want to move out of the room, this is going to bother you,” Deaton said. Derek clenched his jaw, but he knew the doctor   
was right. He shut the kitchen door behind him and got his phone. He sent a text to every pack member to get to his house as soon as   
possible.

Inside, the doctor burned the flowers. Instead of producing a normal flame, they made a purple one. All the while, Deaton was   
chanting something and Stiles struggled with breathing. They were quickly reduced to a pile of ash, and Deaton turned around once   
more.

He took a jar in one hand, and poured some of its contents in the other. It was a pale yellow dust, and he sprinkled it in the wolfsbane   
ash. He mixed the ingredients with his fingers and when he was satisfied with his handiwork, he poured it over the wound.

As soon as the first few bits of dust hit flesh, Stiles arched his back and writhed in pain. His jaw was clenched and his hands were   
curled up in fists. His grunts turned to screams and Derek burst through the door, ignoring the fact that wolfsbane smoke still   
lingered in the air.

“What are you doing to him?” he yelled to Deaton over Stiles’ cursing.

“It’s supposed to be this way, give him a second!”

Indeed, after a few seconds, Stiles began calming down. While he was moving around, Derek was unable to notice that his wounds   
were closing up. Now that he was lying still once more, there was still bloody flesh showing, but the difference was huge. If he took   
proper care of his injury, there was no way he would be in danger.

“What the fuck?” Stiles groaned, and raised his hands to massage his temples. 

“Stiles, your abrasions have lessened significantly, but that was the only quick fix I had in my head,” explained Deaton. “I’m sorry that   
it had to be so painful, but you’ll be grateful later on.”

Stiles sighed and laid flat.

“I know, thanks,” he said gravely. He slowly tried to prop himself up on his elbows. He managed to do it, but he groaned a lot.

“Now that you can see,” the doctor continued, “this part of the injury on your stomach was the worst one. This is why a little bit of it   
remained. I’m going to clean the wound, and wrap it up, and after that you can rest.”

“Thanks,” he said again and laid back down. He turned his head to face Derek, whose jaw was clenched. “Derek, don’t worry, I’m going   
to be fine.”

“It’s not that,” Deaton explained. “I burned some wolfsbane for you. The smoke is still in the room, and it’s bothering him.”

“Derek, just go sit in the living room, I’m fine.”

“I’m going to stay here,” he said shakily. Stiles frowned at him, but he was distracted as soon as the cold iodine solution was applied   
to his stomach. He gasped.

“I’m sorry if it hurts,” Deaton said.

“No, it’s just cold,” breathed Stiles. Deaton finished his job in quiet, and pulled out bordered gauze of the appropriate size and   
applied it.

“That should be enough,” Deaton said merrily, pleased with himself. “Derek, let me help you take him to the bedroom.”

“It’s fine, I can do it,” Derek said decisively. While Deaton was working he had opened the windows and the air was mostly fresh again,   
and Derek had regained the color in his face.

“Come on,” he said to Stiles, who slowly sat up and, one by one, hung his legs off the side of the table. Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand in   
his, and draped his arm around his shoulders. Stiles slid off the table and stiffly walked through the door and to the staircase, where   
they took one step at a time. Derek was happy to let Stiles take as much time as he wanted, and he reminded him of this regularly.

Once they had reached the bedroom, Derek used one hand to pull back the duvet, and sat down along with Stiles. Derek got back up   
and watched Stiles as he positioned himself in the bed as comfortably as it was possible to, with a werewolf staring at your every   
move. He covered him up with the duvet and offered him a top of his own to wear, but Stiles refused. He just said he wanted to rest.

Derek peeled himself from his side and went back down to speak with Deaton.

“He’s going to be okay?” he asked, a little too quickly.

“Yes, Derek, he’s already fine. Why do you worry so much about him?”

Derek looked to the ground.

“He’s a human, he’s fragile. I need to take extra care of the humans in my pack.”

Deaton smiled.

“If you say so,” he mused. As he walked to the door, he said to Derek, “If the need arises, you have my phone number.” When he   
opened the door, he saw Allison’s car and Jackson’s Porsche nearing the house.

“You have visitors,” he called, and walked out, leaving the door open. He got in his own car and left, but as soon as Derek was able to   
feel the slightest hint of relief, he was worrying again.

Janice had escaped, and she was pissed.

The pack members got out of their cars. Erica had ridden along with Jackson and Isaac, while Allison drove Scott over.

“What happened?” Isaac asked, as they all hurried inside. Scott shut the door behind him.

“Janice is gone,” Derek simply said, in a grave tone.

“Janice is the one you were holding prisoner?” Erica asked. Derek nodded. Stiles had obviously filled her in while she was staying at his   
house, something Derek was still angry about, but it wasn’t something he could afford to be angry about.

“How?” Scott asked.

“She managed to wriggle herself out of the chains, and she distracted me while she fled,” Derek explained vaguely.

“Distracted you how?” Scott asked once more. Derek hesitated; he knew they would all be worried.

“She hurt Stiles and I had to take care of him—“ Everybody suddenly started demanding information about Stiles’ whereabouts and   
condition, very loudly, “but he’s fine now!” Derek yelled over his pack’s interrogation. “He’s fine, Dr. Deaton was here minutes after   
Stiles was hurt and fixed him up, he’s upstairs resting, right now.”

Scott was the first one to push past Derek, and rush up the stairs. Derek knew there was no point in trying to stop them, and they had   
a right to see their friend.

Once they had all stepped inside the room, they stood in a circle around the bed and watched Stiles. Derek came in last.

“He’s going to be okay,” he said, though he was still irrationally worried himself. “Most of it has healed, there’s just a slight cut on his   
stomach right now, but the healing was a violent process, and he lost a lot of blood. Leave him be now, we have bigger issues.”

It took more convincing than that, but Derek eventually got them to join him downstairs. They were all sat around the coffee table,   
with their Alpha standing above them when he began.

“Scott, I’m gonna need you to stop by Stiles’ place and tell his dad Stiles is going to sleep over at your house tonight, and that you’re   
taking him to school tomorrow.” All the while he was talking, he had been writing something on a piece of paper that he had gotten   
from his room. He handed it to Scott.

“Give this in tomorrow, when you go to school. It’s an excuse for Stiles’ absence; he’s going to stay here in the morning. If he’s well   
enough, he can go home in the afternoon.” When Scott nodded, he addressed the whole pack.

“Now, on to dealing with Jessica. She’s going to want payback for what we did to her, and you can count on that. We need to form a   
plan to find her and get rid of her before she has a chance to regain her strength.”

“I can call my dad, for help. He can easily—“ started Allison, but was interrupted.

“No,” Erica simply said. “No hunters.”

“It’s fine,” explained Allison. “They won’t hurt the pack, just help us find Janice.”

“I don’t care,” said Erica coldly. “I’d rather rip out her heart with my own teeth than let a hunter lay a single finger on another   
werewolf, even if that werewolf is out to kill us.”

“Hey, my dad isn’t the bad guy in this,” Allison replied, getting defensive.

“Someone who shoots other people and kills them just because of what they are isn’t a good guy either. And I’m not just talking about   
your dad.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Have you forgotten how you almost killed me and Boyd?” shrieked Erica. “I can’t believe you think you can just be a psycho killer bitch   
one day, and expect everything to be peachy the next!”

“It’s not the next day, it’s a month later!” countered Allison, standing up. “Remember that you took off and abandoned your pack, and   
got Boyd killed?”

Erica stood too, and the tears of rage were boiling in her eyes.

“If you say one more word, I swear, I will kill you. I will rip off every single bit of your body until you’re screaming for your death, and   
I’m going to leave you in pieces until you bleed out. Fuck it; I might just burn the pieces afterwards.”

Allison had no response to this.

“Hey! You both sit down and be quiet before I have to make you,” commanded Derek. After an intense stare down, the girls sat back   
down.

Derek looked from each face to the next. Isaac was smirking behind his hand, Scott was looking worriedly at Allison, who was looking   
sourly at her lap, Jackson looked like he was bored out of his mind, and Erica was staring at Allison like she was actually going to do   
what she had just described. This pack was a mess. There was no way they could come up with a decent plan. Derek sighed.

“Go home,” he said desperately. His pack was ripping itself apart, in the face of a big threat. He was failing as an Alpha, and he had   
nobody to turn to. For a moment he contemplated calling up Peter, but he had said not to bother him while he was away taking care of   
some business. Derek just hoped he would return soon, because he needed his advice. Even if he had tried to kill half the people in   
this pack.

“Go home, eat, rest, and calm down. I want you all here tomorrow at four o’clock. Sharp. And be ready to come up with a plan to take   
care of Janice.”

People threw him confused looks, but they did as they were told. They slowly shuffled out, but Erica stayed behind.

“Derek?”

“Yeah?” He was careful not to let his fatigue become evident. On the inside, his eyes were drooping, his shoulders were sagging, he   
was hungry, and he wanted a nap. On the outside, he was fully alert.

“Isaac told me he’s still staying here, with you.” 

Derek quickly picked up on what she was saying.

“You can stay here too,” he said. He had no energy left in him to argue. She gave a respectful smirk, and walked out. Derek could hear   
the pack trying to arrange where to go for lunch. The door shut, and Derek held his emotions back no more.

He dragged his feet up the stairs, and walked into his bedroom, to find Stiles still flat on his back.

“What was that yelling about?” he asked.

“Erica and Allison got into an argument,” Derek said as he pulled up a chair next to Stiles.

“Well, that was a ticking bomb, anyways,” he said as he turned to his side, and winced lightly. Derek let out a little smirk, and Stiles   
noticed that all of Derek’s reservations were gone.

“You look tired,” remarked Stiles.

“I am tired,” confirmed Derek.

“No, I mean, way too tired for,” he paused and looked at the alarm clock, “midday. You look worse than me, and I was opened up half   
an hour ago.”

Derek smiled again.

“I’m sorry about that; I didn’t think she’d be able to get out of those chains so easily.”

“You seriously don’t think this is your fault, do you?” asked Stiles, incredulous. 

“Well, everything else I do is wrong; why not just add another mistake to the list?”

“What the hell are you talking about? Since when is Derek Hale setting his ego aside and admitting he makes mistakes?”

“Since his pack is falling apart.” Stiles could see that Derek was actually depressed about this, something he had never seen Derek be.   
Ever.

“Come on, you’re the youngest Alpha in the history of practically everything. You’re allowed to make as many mistakes as you want.   
Taking care of a pack is like raising a kid. It’s when things get tough that the talented parents shine through. And today, you   
practically saved my life. You did really well, there’s nothing to blame yourself for.”

Derek let out a wide smile this time. “Thanks,” he chuckled, and leaned in and pressed a light peck to Stiles’ forehead. Both their eyes   
widened immediately.

“I—I’m sorry, I just—I wasn’t” Derek stammered, and raised his hands defensively. Stiles just stared at him and let the silence drag   
painfully on.

Then he reached out, and despite the pain, put his hand around the back of Derek’s neck. He pulled him in and their lips crashed   
together. The kiss was slow, and intimate. Both of them had been through so much in a single morning, and both of them needed   
each other more than they knew. Derek waited for Stiles’ tongue to pursue his, before he let himself explore Stiles’ mouth fully. Stiles   
had never thought Derek would be the one to hold back.

The kiss grew more passionate. Nobody was holding back now. Derek put a warm hand on Stiles’ bare chest, and slid it around his   
back, pulling him closer. Stiles felt a sense of warmth and security within him, like nothing could ever be bad again, and that all that   
mattered was these lips pressing against his, this stubble rubbing against his face, that hand tracing shapes on his back.

Slowly, the kiss broke, and they looked into each others’ eyes. Stiles half-grinned and put his hand in Derek’s. He pulled it towards   
him, and moved backwards, to the other side of the bed, but never let go of Derek’s hand. He turned his back to Derek, and placed   
the hand around his waist. Derek positioned himself right behind Stiles, and held him close.

Stiles was the little spoon this time. But this time, it all felt completely right.

Derek nuzzled his face into the back of Stiles’ neck, and traced the gauze ever so lightly, before he just wrapped his hand around   
Stiles and they both drifted off to a well-earned nap.


	5. Wound

Stile's eyes flickered open as the harsh, early afternoon sunlight shot straight through the window, from the only opening between the leaves hanging from the trees and hit his face. He realized that Derek and he were still spooning in the same position as they were when they had laid down, and Stiles sat up to provide some relief to Derek's arm, which was probably ten different kinds of numb by now. His own arm was kind of tingly from the time he'd spent sleeping on it.

There was still some minor soreness in the wound, but it was nothing worse than an overused, cramping muscle. Stiles turned around to look at Derek while he was sleeping, and he looked just like a peaceful little baby. He couldn't help but smiling wide at how different Derek was when he wasn't trying to be a commanding pack leader.

Stiles checked the alarm clock, which read something near three o'clock. He'd been passed out in Derek's arms for three hours, and he still wanted more. He also wanted to make out with him more.

Fuck it, he thought. He leaned in and kissed Derek square on the lips. He stirred, but didn't wake up.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Stiles chuckled quietly to himself. His heart raced every time Derek's eyelids squirmed, wishing he'd wake up. Stiles didn't know when he'd become so obsessed with Derek, but he was loving it.

He leaned in once more and kissed him harder, and longer. Derek moaned and –once he realized what was happening- put his arms around Stiles and pulled him on top of him. Stiles whipped a leg over the other side of Derek, and basically straddled Derek's waist. Derek had not gained his consciousness fully yet, and his kissing was sloppy and clumsy. Stiles chuckled into Derek's mouth as their stomachs growled tremendously at the same time.

"I could get used to this," Derek smiled.

"Wanna get lunch?" Stiles offered. Derek was in no position to turn down food. He let Stiles get off him, being careful not to touch his wound, and followed him out through the bedroom door and down the stairs. Derek was about to offer him something to wear once again, but a whistling cut him off. He got off the last step, and looked through the kitchen door. Isaac and Erica were sitting at the table, and now they were both throwing suggestive looks their way. Erica looked confused.

Crap, Stiles thought. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can touch Derek all I want.

"Erica?" She looked to him, with eyebrows raised. He grabbed the dirty jacket Derek had thrown aside when Dr. Deaton was performing his rituals before, and pulled it around himself and zipped it up. "A word?" he suggested, and motioned with his eyes towards the door.

"Sure," she said, and led the way. She continued walking until she reached the front door and pulled it open. However, she proceeded to walk around the back of the house.

"Wait here," she told Stiles, and he stayed on the porch. A minute later she pulled up outside the house in a new car.

"Is this really necessary?" Stiles asked.

"They can hear everything," Erica said, and motioned towards the house.

"Aren't they going to find out anyway?"

"Some privacy for the moment would seem nice."

Stiles didn't argue with her, and simply got in the passenger seat. He was suddenly aware that a car crash would be lethal for him, but not necessarily for her. Her driving wasn't as risky as Derek's, but it wasn't the safest as well. Within a minute, they were out of the trees.

"So," Erica sighed. "You wanted to talk?" Stiles gulped.

"Yeah…" He thought about how he could begin to explain what was happening right now. He knew that barely anything had happened between him and Erica, but before he began something with Derek, he wanted everything to be clear with her. Plus, he was curious about what Derek had said to her outside Lydia's house. He decided to go with that.

"What did Derek tell you when we were at Lydia's place?" Erica was quiet for a second.

"He told me off for leaving, and he warned me that hard training was in store for me," she answered. Stiles felt like she was being honest, but she was holding back.

"That's all? You guys were standing out there for some time." Stiles was trying to get her to do the talking, to ensure he wouldn't say anything stupid. Erica sighed, but hesitantly continued.

"He said he didn't want anything to happen between the two of us," she said quickly, as if she were rushing to get it out of her mind. "Has he told you, too?"

"Yeah, after Lydia kicked us out," Stiles said. Erica sighed again.

"So what do you want to do?" she asked. Stiles thought for a moment.

"Well, I kind of get where he's coming from." He hoped he sounded convincing, and continued. "And also, look at us. We're practically opposites. How much chance was there of us having something serious, anyway? Maybe it really just was in the heat of the moment, and nothing more." Erica frowned, and Stiles panicked that he had said a tad too much.

Shit.

"Yeah…" she said, thoughtfully. "I mean, I get it, but… No offence, but it kind of seems like you're a little bit too keen on listening to Derek." Stiles' heart jumped, and if Stiles could feel it, Erica could hear it. Her eyes suddenly widened in apprehension.

She looked at him with shock, and started sniffing him furiously. Stiles knew there was no point in lying now, and he just rubbed his temples until Erica finished smelling Stiles, during which she managed to keep the car in lane.

"Why do you smell like Derek?" she demanded. "Did you have sex with Derek?" Stiles raised his hands defensively and made several noises before he actually formed words.

"No! Of course not!" was what he managed.

"Then what?" asked Erica, keeping her eyes on the road, but constantly stealing glances at his guilty face.

"W—we just slept together!" he stammered anxiously. Stiles thought that the expression Erica pulled should be the definition of incredulous.

"That's the same thing!"

"No, I mean we actually slept. In the same bed, just slept."

"What, on separate sides?" Stiles hesitated and winced.

"Not necessarily." Erica clicked her tongue.

"Anything else you wanna throw out there while we're being honest?" she said loudly.

"Well, we made out just a little bit," Stiles said quietly, too late realizing that it was a rhetorical question. Erica pulled over outside a Subway, and shook her head.

"Stiles, god damn it. Your mouth is gonna get you killed one of these days, I'm sure." They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Erica's expression went from exasperated, to depressed, to skeptical.

Stiles looked at her, and wished he could be in her head for a few minutes. He thought the hardest part was telling her, but now he realized he was wrong. Causing her pain, however small the amount might be, was something that shattered his heart.

"So," she finally said. "You and Derek are together?" He sighed.

"Nothing hugely significant has really happened between us, but yes. I'm guessing, at least," he said quietly, but decisively.

"I guess I don't really have much of a good reason to be upset, do I? We barely spent a day together," Erica said sadly. Stiles was impressed. She was being mature, and composed.

"There's plenty of irrational ones," he suggested, hoping to lighten the mood. He did draw a smirk from her, a sad one, but a smirk nonetheless.

"Yeah, I guess so. But I don't wanna be that kind of bitch," she joked. Stiles chuckled once.

"You're being really cool about this, you know. If you wanna talk or anything…" Stiles trailed off.

"Thanks," she smiled knowingly and nodded. She was grateful that he still cared about her.

"You wanna bitch out on the ride back? Get it out of your system?"

"No, it's fine. I'm probably just going to do something really girly and passive-aggressive in a day or two." Stiles chuckled again. He was lucky to have such a friend, and remained amazed at how the period she'd spent as an Omega had changed her.

"Here," she said, pulled some money out of her breast pocket and put it in his hand. "Get some food for you and Derek."

"How'd you know we want food?" asked Stiles with a confused face.

"You haven't eaten since you both woke up. Plus, I could hear your stomachs growling from a mile."

Stiles exited the car with a smile on his face. Actually, he kept the smile the whole time. While he was ordering, while he was waiting, and while he was getting back in. They drove back in silence, until Erica broke it.

"So Lydia's agreed to get in the pack, by the way," she said in a matter of fact way. Stiles' eyeballs practically jumped out of his head, he opened his eyes so wide.

"Are you kidding me?" he exclaimed.

"I'm serious! And that's not even the best part. After we spent like half an hour of answering her questions, she crossed her little arms and said to Allison, 'Fine, but I want to learn how to use a gun.'"

If Stiles had been eating anything, he'd have choked at that.

"A gun! Lydia? Are you sure?"

"I know, she's probably the least likely person to be using a gun. Not even Allison uses guns, she thinks the wolfsbane bullets are too harsh or something. Our gentle little angel only shoots arrows at you until you're begging for mercy," Erica said. Her tone had gone from excited to angry to snide in three short sentences.

"Hey," Stiles interjected. "Allison's mother had killer herself because she had gotten bitten by Derek, and as if that wasn't enough, she had Gerard trying to weasel himself into her brain. Wanting revenge from Derek, or even anyone from his pack, was totally understandable. I'm not really saying it's acceptable, what she did, but you guys both need to get over whatever happened."

"Stiles, you weren't there," she said more quietly now, the hurt seeping into her voice. She's probably thinking about Boyd, thought Stiles. "She would have murdered us if her father didn't literally shoot the arrow out of her hands. You know, they used a tape of howling to lure us into their trap."

"Fine," Stiles said, defeated. He had to admit, he was inclined to take Erica's side on this, and he was finding it really hard to justify Allison's actions. "Then you let it go first, and she'll take the example. Just be the bigger person."

Erica didn't answer, and kept on driving. Within minutes, they were at the house. Before they got out of the car, Erica turned to Stiles. He noticed she didn't turn off the engine, so that the wolves inside wouldn't hear them.

"Just so we're clear, I'm cool with you and Derek. I mean, I don't like it, but I'm cool," she said sincerely.

"Thanks," Stiles replied with a wink. As soon as they got through the front door, Derek was on his feet, smelling the sandwiches.

"Did you bring food?" he enquired shamelessly. Stiles laughed at the fact that he was being more of a hungry animal than the composed Alpha he was trying so hard to be.

"Yes," he giggled and tossed him one of the meatball subs while Erica collapsed on one of the couches. Derek greedily unwrapped it and dug into it within two seconds, on the spot. Stiles on the other hand, lacking the animal instincts, went into the kitchen and got a plate and started eating. Isaac was still sitting where he was before he'd left the house. He was smirking at Stiles.

"What?" he said, with a full mouth. Isaac didn't say anything, but kept on smirking. Derek was still eating where he stood.

"What?" he repeated, louder.

"Nothing," Isaac said, obviously lying. "Just had a little chat with a little birdie is all." At this, Derek lunged through the kitchen door. Stiles could see Erica in the back suddenly sitting up in the couch, surprised by the sudden movement.

"If you say anything, I swear you are dead," warned Derek gravely. It would have probably been much more intimidating without the cheeks full of food like a hamster, and marinara sauce on his cheek. Stiles was about to tell him to wipe himself off, but he thought he should just let him enjoy his lunch.

He was much more interested in what they had said, alone, if it was so scandalous and it clearly involved Stiles. He guessed it was about him and Derek, but decided not to jump to any conclusions.

"Why aren't you telling me?" Stiles asked loudly, annoyed at Derek for keeping something so intriguing from him. "If it's about me, then I have a right to know!" he declared, throwing anything out there that might convince them to tell him. Erica was nearing the door by this point. Derek swallowed his food.

"I'll tell you later," Derek said to Stiles, enunciating vigorously and with a look that screamed, 'Shut up!'

"But—" Derek looked at him even harder. "Fine…" he said, defeated. He dug into his sandwich instead.

"Guys," Derek instructed, "go call the rest of the pack. We're going to do some training in half an hour, here." Both Erica and Isaac left the room.

"You know," Stiles said to Derek, as soon as they were alone, "you don't really have to be the big bad wolf. You can always be the considerate, approachable Alpha, instead."

Derek stared at him. It wasn't a confused expression, an angry or sad one. Just stared. Stiles got uncomfortable soon.

"So, what did you tell Isaac?" he asked, trying to get the conversation flowing again.

"You are not letting this go, are you?" Derek asked, confounded at Stiles' persistency. If there was one thing he could count on Stiles to be, it was stubborn.

"It will be easier for the both of us if you just let me know within the following seconds," Stiles confirmed in a sophisticated tone. Derek growled.

"Fine." He ate the last piece of his own sandwich, and took extra care and time chewing it. He had a thoughtful look upon his face. When he was finished, he opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. After a few moments, the same thing happened.

"Oh, just tell me already!" Stiles exclaimed.

"Look, when you and Erica went out, Isaac looked at me like he knew exactly what was going on, and I asked him why he was looking at me. He said that he knew, and I asked him what it was that he knew. He said he could smell you on me and my arousal when you were near me, but he also said he'd keep it to himself," Derek said quickly. Stiles had never seen him more flustered or embarrassed. Derek got up and poked his head through the kitchen door, which was slightly ajar.

"He did a bad job at hiding it, though!" he yelled at Isaac. As soon as he turned around to sit back down, Stile's face was glued to his. Their lips met instantly, and Derek was shy no more. This kiss was unlike the previous ones. It was hot and raw, their breathing quickly growing heavy, and their bodies grinding up against each other.

Stiles abruptly pulled away and groaned as he bore a pained expression.

"What? What is it?" Derek asked, suddenly very worried. Stiles leaned against the table and clutched the area around his scar.

"It's nothing, I'm okay," he reassured him, though he grunted a couple more times before he calmed down. "I just pressed into you a little too hard is all."

Derek let out a sigh of relief, and his shoulders fell back down.

"You should let me give you something to wear, by the way. And shower, too."

"Are you trying to tell me I smell?" Stiles asked, frowning.

"Well, you smell like Stiles, and that's good. But a shower might help you relax a little bit." Stiles knew he was right, he'd last showered yesterday morning.

"What about the bandage? How am I gonna keep it dry?" Stiles asked.

"Dry?" Derek was confused.

"I can't let the wound get wet; the water may cause an infection."

"Yeah, but it's probably not as vulnerable as a regular cut. Deaton healed it with magic. Have you looked at it since this morning?"

"No, not really," Stiles said.

"So let's look at it now," Derek concluded. Stiles was slightly worried that revealing it only a few hours after it had been made might not be the best idea, especially in a kitchen. But his worries dissolved away as soon as Derek started undressing him.

He unzipped his top, slower than what would be expected, as if he were savoring it. When it was open, he took it by the shoulders and helped it off Stiles, whose breathing was growing more rapid. Whenever Derek's skin brushed against his bare body, he got chills. Cuddling was one thing, having Derek undress him was another.

He tossed the zip-up onto the table and got down on his knees.

Are you fucking kidding me? he thought to himself.

Derek ever so slowly put his hands to the bandage, and as carefully as it was possible to do anything, he peeled it off. Stiles felt some pain, but kept it to himself.

"Huh," Derek exclaimed. Stiles looked down.

"What is—" What Stiles saw, he was not expecting. What remained of the huge, life-threatening gash was no more than a scab between two and three inches long. His abdomen were greatly sore, but the abrasion was mostly gone.

"'Huh' is right," said Stiles. After a moment's thought, he added, "I guess I can shower, then. There's towels upstairs?" Derek nodded and stood back up. He looked deep into Stiles' eyes, and made him uncomfortable. He quickly zipped himself back up and removed himself from Derek's line of sight. He made his way towards the bathroom, and Isaac and Erica looked at him while he went through the living room. They'd heard.

He walked up and turned right, but went past the bedroom door this time. The next was the bathroom. He went in and closed the door behind him. Without giving it much thought, he pulled off his top, and threw it on the toilet lid, as well as his jeans, boxers, and socks. He left his shoes near the door and opened the cabinet. Inside he found two clean towels. Stiles was surprised at how organized Derek was. He really liked things in order.

Stiles pulled out one of the towels and set it on top of the closed hamper. He pulled back the curtain and got into the tub, only a little stiffly, and turned on the water.

The steaming hot jet hit the entire front of his body, and he immediately felt ten times as relaxed. Then, the soreness kicked in. The wound burned slightly, the pressure of the water on the surrounding bruising was what was causing the brunt of the pain. It was bearable, and Stiles clenched his teeth through it until he got used to it. He looked down at his stomach and softly ran a hand over it. Stiles then realized he hadn't used the toilet since this morning, so he slipped out of the tub for a second and did.

As he was getting back in, he slipped a little and yelped loudly, but steadied himself on the wall and safely returned to the warmth of the stream of water. He was about to reach out for the shampoo when he heard footsteps running up the stairs.

The door burst open.

"Stiles!" Derek yelled.

"What the hell!" Stiles exclaimed.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine! What are you doing in here?" Stiles asked, still focused on the fact that his naked body was only hidden by a thin piece of plastic.

"I came to check on you. People don't usually scream when they're not in danger, you know." Stiles ignored the sarcasm and noticed that Derek had just rushed into the bathroom to save him, and he felt even warmer inside.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks," he said. Derek took a second.

"Okay, well whatever you can find in my room that fits you, you can wear." Stiles smiled at the thought of wearing Derek's clothes. And underwear.

"Okay."

The door clicked shut.

Stiles soaped himself, and took extra care with his scar. The edge of the scab was getting really soaked now, and was coming off. Stiles decided it was time to get out before the scab came completely off, but he noticed the wound wasn't still open under it. He scratched off some more, and the same was true. It was red, but it wasn't open. Eventually, like a little child pulling on a thread, Stiles had rubbed it all off without realizing it. It was more sensitive now, so he'd have to wrap it up in something, but it felt as if it were cleaner.

He turned off the water and got out. He dried himself off and opened up the window a little bit to let the steam out. Opening the medicine cabinet, he found a couple rolls of gauze and some anti-biotic solution. Stiles pulled out a piece of cotton from a jar on the bottom shelf and applied the solution to it. He lightly dabbed the area where the scab used to be, and when he was satisfied, he threw the cotton in the waste bin. He grabbed one of the gauze rolls and removed the clip from it before he began wrapping it all around his waist. He managed to get a few layers over the wound, enough so that the anti-biotic wouldn't seep through, before he clipped it securely.

He grabbed all his clothes, and realized Derek probably saw all his undergarments on full display when he'd walked in. He smiled, and that was also because now he was in Derek's room, and was going to wear anything he wanted. He dumped his other outfit onto the bed, and opened a drawer of the dresser. He found socks.

After he pulled on a pair, he opened another drawer. He found boxers.

He took his sweet time deciding, before he realized he was being really creepy, and simply picked out a plain black pair, and put it on. He quickly located a t-shirt that was a size too big, which was masked by the fact that the hoodie he found was also too big, but could pass as his own. He decided to go with a pair of tracksuit bottoms that had an elastic around the waist, because they would at least stay on his waist, unlike the jeans which simply slipped off. As he opened the door and went to get hit shoes from the bathroom, he realized he was very much in the same position Erica was in last night.

He put them on and made his way downstairs, where he found no one.

"Hello?" he called, in a normal tone.

"Outside," yelled a familiar voice. Stiles walked outside and saw Scott and Allison standing there while Derek had been talking to them. As soon as they saw him, they rushed to him, and began asking questions.

"How do you feel?" Allison enquired.

"Are you alright?" Scott demanded. Stiles raised his hands.

"Guys, calm down, I'm fine!" he tried to reassure them.

"Are you sure? Because you might feel fine now, but you might just be tiring yourself out," said Allison, who had clearly been thinking about Stiles. Scott looked at her with bulged eyes.

"Look, everything is okay. Dr. Deaton worked his magic, literally, and I was fine within the hour," said Stiles.

"Well, why didn't you answer your phone then?" Scott said, still in a panic.

"To be honest, I don't really know where my phone is right now. And I was asleep, resting up until about an hour ago."

Scott looked like he was still worried, but willing to be satisfied with Stiles' reassuring comments. Allison bore a sympathetic smile.

"Can we get back to training?" Derek called, while his other two Betas stood next to him. Then, Jackson's Porsche pulled up to the house.

"Apparently not," he muttered to himself. But, Lydia was with Jackson. She got out carefully, and Jackson was at her side as soon as he could to provide any answers he could. She looked like she really didn't want to be here, and she had her arms crossed. They went up to Derek.

"Hi, Lydia. I hope I didn't scare you this morning," he began.

"No, not scared me. More like pissed me off," she said snidely.

"I think I'd be good for you to see us train, maybe realize how these powers can be put to a good use. And Allison can give you a few basic pointers with a bow and arrow, before you begin your training with her dad."

Lydia Martin is going to spend her afternoons shooting guns with Chris Argent? That's going to be rich, Stiles thought.

"Whatever," she said simply, and began walking with confidence. The confidence was slowly drained from her strut as she realized she didn't really have anything to walk to, and Isaac and Erica looked accusingly at her.

Stiles waved to her, and she caught his eye. She walked to him and he greeted her, but she didn't respond. Stiles sat on the steps on the porch to watch the pack train, and after a few moments, so did Lydia.

"So," she began, "how long have you been in this pack?"

"It's been a few months. I hear you're in it too, now."

"I'm not sure yet."

"You're gonna train with guns?"

"Yeah, I think so." Stiles could sense she was uneasy.

"Look, there's no reason to be worried," he began, and the group started shifting and sparring against each other. Derek took Isaac and Scott while Jackson fought with Erica. The color from Lydia's face drained slowly.

"Okay, see, that looks scary now, but you get used to it. Trust me, it's not something you can just ignore and it goes away. Even if you're not a wolf, you're in this. I was in the same position you are in right now, and worse."

"Oh, really? Worse how?" Lydia said, in a tone that said she was in no mood for talking.

"When I got involved, I didn't know what was going on, and Peter was after my ass." Lydia shuddered at the name of Peter.

"He's part of this pack too?" she asked softly.

"I don't know yet. He's away for some business, says he'll talk about that pack stuff with Derek when he gets back in a little while."

Lydia sighed, and her head drooped a little bit, but it snapped back up when Erica let out a howl of pain.

"Oh my God, is she going to be okay?" Lydia asked in shock.

"Yeah, don't worry, they all have super fast healing." Allison began practicing her aim by shooting at random targets on the trees, and going back to collect her arrows every so often. Lydia remained staring at them in amazement.

"These people are my pack," Stiles began again, in a last desperate attempt to get her spirits up. "They're all the family I've got besides my dad. They would protect me with their lives, and I would do the same for them. In time you'll feel that kind of connection too, and you're going to be laughing at the idea of you considering backing out of this."

Lydia looked at him like she was about to believe him, and rested her head in her hands.

"So what do you do then? Just watch them fight?" asked Lydia.

"Uh, excuse me," exclaimed Stiles in an exaggerative offended tone for comic effect, "but I happen to be the brains of this sorry bunch of dumbasses."

Lydia smirked.

"But Allison's smarter than you. In fact, a lot of the people here are smarter than you." She turned to him. "You know, I really don't see your use here at all."

Stiles chuckled, and lightly bumped his fist into her shoulder, and she let out a tired giggle.

"I'm sorry I kicked you out today," she said, with a friendly smile across her face. Stiles had known that smile when Jackson was the Kanima, and Lydia turned to Stiles for help and support.

"It's fine," he said. "Totally understandable." After a sliver of quietness, she spoke again.

"What do you do, though?" she asked again.

"Well, I provide a lot of information," Stiles said sourly, and added, "but I got this little book today, and I'm hoping it's going to help me be more useful in combat."

"By giving papercuts?" Stiles looked at her. He'd never seen the sarcastic, humorous side of her. He guessed at that moment that they'd be good friends.

And he realized that's all he wanted to be. Friends. He'd been infatuated with Lydia ever since he could remember, and now it was all gone. Stiles wandered if his little make out sessions with Derek were enough to make him feel stronger for the Alpha than Lydia. Maybe they were more than just making out.

"By using magic. There's spells and potions in it," Stiles said, thoughtfully. Lydia scoffed.

"So now you're Harry Potter?" she said in a ludicrous way.

"Not everyone is as fond of shooting others' brains out as you, Lydia."

She made an overly dramatic expression, with her eyes wide and her eyebrows high up, while she mouthed 'Oh, wow,' and shook her head.

"I'm gonna go get it," he said, and got up. The gauze was kind of itchy, but he ignored it. When he went back inside the house, it took him a few minutes to actually locate it, and he felt rather stupid when he saw it was on the coffee table right in front of him. When he walked back outside, he slumped next to Lydia and showed her it.

"Here it is," he said. He turned to the page with the spark spell, and said, "I did this one before," while pointing. She raised her eyebrows.

"You made fire?" she asked.

"No, just a little spark," he said. "And I didn't even see it, Derek told me I did it. I just felt it when I burned myself." Lydia scoffed. She laid her hands flat on the ground behind her and leaned back. She was relaxed now, in spite of the massacre that was going on in front of them.

"What is going on with you and Derek, anyway?" Stiles gulped. How the hell did she know too?

"What are you talking about?" Stiles chuckled unconvincingly.

"Well, Jackson's been telling me that Derek is being weird around you, and he has been for a long time now."

"That's nonsense, he's—" Stiles put together what Lydia had told him. "How long?"

"I don't know, probably since Jackson was cured of that Kenima thing," she said nonchalantly.

"Kanima," Stiles corrected her. He thought about that for a second. Derek had been 'acting weird' around Stiles for so long now, and Stiles only just noticed…

"Why, what's going on?" Lydia asked, now highly interested in the gossip-filled conversation.

"Nothing is going on," Stiles told her. Derek took a serious hit for the first time during the entire training session.

"Okay guys, take a break!" he yelled. Everybody shifted back into their human forms.

"Stiles, tell me," she urged him and pulled him up by the sleeve after she had stood up herself. They went to the side while everybody else went inside, and Stiles looked at her hesitantly.

"You know they all have super-hearing. They'll hear me when I tell you."

"Well, they're going to find out anyway," she urged him on. "No secrets inside the family, right?" Stiles hated that she was using his words against him.

"You know what?" Stiles began. He was suddenly courageous. Or desperate. "I don't care. I'm telling you, and I don't care."

"Okay…" Lydia said, suddenly confused.

"Derek made a pass at me."

"What!" she exclaimed. Her face was of utter shock. Stiles figured the other werewolves had already pieced it together, like Isaac had. Maybe not Scott though, or Allison.

"What did he say?" she asked, as intrigued as he had ever seen her be.

"He said the other wolves had been smelling the arousal coming off him when we were near."

"Are you kidding me?" Her voice was so high-pitched by now, the wolves' ears probably hurt.

"No; we kissed sometimes too," he admitted. Lydia looked like she was going to faint.

"Well that's more than making a pass! Are you two together?"

"Actually, I don't know," Stiles said. "I hope so." Lydia smiled at the comment.

Suddenly, the door opened again, and the pack shuffled back out. They all had mischievous grins on their faces, and few of them threw dirty looks at Stiles. He fiddled with the spell book in his pocket. Last came out Derek, with the grumpiest expression ever and his hands curled up in fists.

Lydia turned back to Stiles with the biggest smile on her face.

"If they tease him like that, and he's still not giving you up, you're together honey," she said, and walked away. Stiles thought about that.

Being with Derek. A couple, with Derek. Stiles had to admit, having the sour wolf as his boyfriend was the least expected outcome. But as he looked at him, something clicked. Derek was standing at the edge of the porch steps, looking over his pack stretching, and preparing for another session. There was something in those enchanting eyes, those protective arms and that beautiful face that just made everything else melt away.

Stiles quietly walked up to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. Derek turned around to face him, and Stiles kissed him. It wasn't emotional or sexual, just a kiss for the confidence boost that Derek seemed to need. When he pulled away, the frown had disappeared and was replaced by a calm, content expression.

All the while they'd been sharing their kiss, the pack looked at them. Lydia, Jackson, Allison, Scott, Isaac and Erica. They weren't going to make fun of Derek any more. What Stiles and their Alpha had, however small, it was real. And something like that is not to be made fun of, but admired.

"I think I'm gonna try doing my spell while you guys train again," Stiles said in a conversational tone, his face still close to Derek's.

"I don't mind," Derek said, his grin never disappearing. Jackson groaned audibly and shifted.

"So are we training, or what?" he yelled at his Alpha.


	6. Saturday Night

Stiles flicked through the TV guide and found the Sunday night page. His eyes quickly jumped from line to line as he skimmed through it and found a half-decent movie to keep himself occupied with until dinner was ready. A sudden hiss pounced through the kitchen door, and the sweet aromas were not too far behind as Derek added ingredients into the frying pan.

Apparently, he cooked.

The rest of the pack was out somewhere, enjoying their last few hours of carelessness before school resumed the next morning. Stiles wondered how he'd been able to sell them a story about feeling a little bit under the weather and wanting to stay in for the night. Either their werewolf lie-detecting powers were switched off, or they were keener to believe him now that he was hurt and sick.

Or maybe they just got the point and let us have some time alone, Stiles thought and smiled. He was glad that his relationship with Derek wasn't causing any trouble within the pack. Erica and Allison were definitely stirring something up, but he decided to wait and see what was going to happen with that time bomb.

Stiles felt really proud of himself today. He had acted like a mature grown-up when he got things out in the open with Erica, he had perfected producing a small spark during the pack training, however slowly, and he got himself a big, hot piece of man-wolf. Just sitting there, on Derek's couch, with Derek's scent all over the place, and his voice occasionally drifting through the kitchen door while he thought out loud, was all that Stiles could ever ask for. He was in bliss.

Sitting around doing nothing while the sexiest man he'd ever laid eyes on cooked for him on the other side of the door was not something Stiles was prepared to do. He clumsily pointed the remote at the screen and turned the TV off, flung it onto the couch as he got up, and walked through the kitchen door. The scents were mesmerizing.

Derek turned his head to the side and glanced at Stiles through the corner of his eye, just to acknowledge his presence, and quickly devoted all his attention to his craft once more. Stiles just leaned against the wall next to the door and watched him. He was so focused when he closed his eyes and smelled the spices before adding very precise amounts of them. If Stiles hadn't known him, he'd have guessed he was a professional chef.

He quickly maneuvered his body around the kitchen, going from the fridge, to the spice rack, to the drawers with the cutlery and back to the stove. Every movement he made had purpose and seemed to be entwined with the one before it as well as the one after it, as if Derek quite simply flowed around the kitchen with grace and dexterity.

After Stiles decided he had stared at him long enough to bore holes into him, he called out.

"What are you making?" At that, Derek suddenly turned everything off, and pulled the lid off the pot. He picked it up and proceeded to pour it all into the sink, letting the steam rush out in a frenzy. Stiles was about to ask him why he was ruining perfectly good food, but he realized Derek was just draining the water from the pastry he'd boiled.

After he violently shook the strainer to make sure every drop of water was gone, he added a few teaspoons worth of olive oil, and poured half the spaghetti into one plate on the table, and the other half into the other, before he dumped it in the sink, as well as the pot. Derek returned to the stove, from which he retrieved a smaller pot that contained a white, creamy-looking sauce. Once more, he proceeded to empty half of its contents on each plate and leave the apparatus in the sink. The frying pan remained on the stove, and it now contained little more than a few pieces of cut up, charred onion.

Then, Stiles noticed.

Derek had set up the table. He had actually set up the table. And not just for a regular dinner, oh no. This was a full-on, romantic date set up. One plate was set at the head of the table, while the other was at the seat right next to it. The plate settings were of the same color, the glasses were waiting to be filled, and the cutlery was perfectly aligned. Also, Derek had put out candles.

I thought they only did all of this in movies, Stiles said. He had always thought that a candle-lit dinner was just another gimmick, but he had to admit, now that he was part of one, he could see the charm to it.

"You hungry?" Derek asked eager to dig in. Even more so to hear what Stiles had to say about his cooking.

"Always," Stiles laughed, and picked up his glass in order to fill it before he sat down. Derek pulled it from his hand, and shoved him into his seat. Stiles wandered if Derek was aware of his own superhuman strength.

"What would you like?" Derek asked, and moved towards the fridge.

"Um…" Stiles whined, utterly surprised. "Water, I guess?"

Derek quickly filled both their glasses with water before he sat down.

"I could have gotten that on my own, you know," Stiles said.

"I know," replied Derek, conversationally. "I just wanted to do it for you."

"Since when did dinner turn into the most romantic date ever?" asked Stiles, with a little bit of humor that Derek did not pick up on. He simply frowned at Stiles.

"You don't like it," he simply stated.

"No, it's not that!" Stiles exclaimed, trying to spare his feelings and be appreciative. "It just looks to me like you went through a lot of trouble for this."

"It was fine," Derek smiled, relieved. "Wanna do your little trick? I noticed you got better at it," he continued, and pointed at the candles with his nose. Stiles realized he meant for Stiles to use his spark spell to light the pair of them. He raised his eyebrows at Derek, but decided to do it anyway, because why not?

He put up his hands, and relaxed his shoulders. It took him about a minute to actually light them both. Not because he couldn't do the spell, but because a tiny little spark wasn't big enough to light a candle in one go.

"Well, at least I didn't burn the house down," Stiles said after he finished. Then he realized what he'd just said.

Kate had practically burned the house down. But that seemed to fly over Derek's head.

"Don't worry, you'll get better," he said reassuringly and picked up his fork and spoon. Stiles copied him, and soon enough, they started eating.

"Oh dear Lord," Stiles whimpered with a mouth full of food.

"What?" Derek asked, and turned his gaze up to face Stiles, as if he didn't care about his dramatic reaction to his culinary skills.

"This stuff is amazing!" announced Stiles. "How come you don't make this every single time you're hungry? It's unbelievable."

"It's a special recipe," Derek said, and they both continued eating. "I only use it for very special occasions. Last time I did, it was for my mother's birthday."

Stiles only very lightly winced at the second mention of something related to the Hale fire or its victims in less than a minute. If Derek had noticed, he hadn't said anything. Anyway, he was too busy being a gleeful little three-year-old over the fact that he was a 'very special occasion'.

The rest of the dinner was eaten over pleasant, amusing conversation. Derek and Stiles were actually very compatible with each other when they were not arguing. They laughed, and enjoyed themselves, and it became easier by the minute to be closer to the person in front of them. They talked about personal things. Not the sad ones like Stiles' mother or Derek's family.

"That was fantastic," Stiles said and sat back. He rubbed his belly and Derek teased him about being a little skinny boy. Even that, Stiles found endearing. They both laughed, and after a few seconds, silence fell. Stiles decided to break it with a kiss.

He leaned in most of the way, and Derek's lips found his own. Their kiss was emotional, like Derek was dying to let him know of something, but he couldn't, and he hoped their kiss would be strong enough to convey the message. As they got into it, they got up and moved out of the kitchen.

Stiles half-stumbled through the kitchen door and up the stairs while Derek gracefully navigated his way around the corner of the landing and down the corridor. Every half a step they broke their kiss but they found each other within moments. Things were getting very heated and Stiles was finding it hard to think about walking.

Finally, they reached the bedroom door.

Derek put his hand behind Stiles and expertly opened it without opening his eyes. Stiles moaned as he fell through and slammed his body into Derek, who in turn slammed into the bedroom wall next to the door. This time, his wound hurt a little bit, but it wasn't enough to get him to remove his tongue from Derek's mouth. Nothing seemed to be, as far as Stiles was concerned at the moment.

Derek gave a small grunt and pushed Stiles away. He took a few backward steps until he reached the bed and sat down on it. Derek looked deep in his eyes for several seconds, without moving. His eyes were a little bit watery from the fierceness of the kiss, but they did a bad job at hiding the determination in them. When Derek could hold himself back no longer, he quickly walked to the bed.

He put his arms around Stiles' waist, who in turn put his around Derek's neck. Derek put one of his knees on the railing of the bed to indicate to Stiles that he wanted to get in too, but instead of moving back to make some room, he just wrapped his legs around Derek and held on tight.

Derek got the hint and crawled onto the bed on all fours with Stiles hanging off him. When Derek stopped Stiles let himself fall to the bed, but his legs and arms remained wrapped around him. Stiles moaned again. His hand moved down and grabbed Derek by the waist. A few heated moments later, they moved further and his fingers found the edge of Derek's t-shirt. As he went to pull it off him, Derek suddenly grabbed Stiles' wrists and broke the kiss while looking him straight in the eyes.

"Stiles," he began.

"What? What's wrong?" Stiles breathed heavily and looked back at Derek with a confused face, more than eager to get back to business.

"Stiles, we can't," Derek said.

"Can't what?" Derek sighed and closed his eyes so that he would be looking straight into Stiles' face and be tempted to throw his sliver of self-control out the window.

"We can't start getting undressed. Then it'll lead to sex," Derek said. Stiles wasn't expecting that but he wasn't capable of being anything other than horny right now.

"Well, isn't that the point?" he asked.

"Stiles, I'm seven years older than you. Sex is not really an option," Derek said mournfully. Stiles could do nothing but stare for a few seconds.

"Are you kidding me? Come on, we both want it, I can see it in your eyes," Stiles urged him.

"It doesn't matter," Derek said through clenched teeth. It was taking every part of him to not rip his own clothes off Stiles' body right there and then. The fact that Stiles was covered in Derek's scent made it that much hotter for him. "You haven't even had sex once; your first time can't be like this."

"Fine," Stiles countered. "Then let's not have sex. Let's do other things," he said, and ground his crotch up against Derek's. He gasped and moaned in response, but as soon as he realized what was happening he got up off of Stiles and sat on his knees on the edge of the bed. Stiles sat up on his elbows.

He looked at Derek, and he looked down. They both had their serious faces on now.

"And what if I am ready for it? What if I do want my first time to be like this? With you?"

"Stiles, we're rushing into this," Derek insisted. "I only kissed you this morning, for the first time. I thought I was going to lose you. What if—" Derek swallowed. "Sex complicates everything. What if I end up losing you after all?" Derek never dared look up and at Stiles, who was shocked at Derek's display of sensitivity and sentimentality.

"Hey," Stiles said and sat up himself. He sat in front of Derek and held him tight. "Look at me," he instructed, and Derek reluctantly did.

"I'm right here, okay? You're not losing me," he tried to reassure him. Derek nodded before he returned the hug and laid a soft kiss upon Stiles' lips. He knew it wasn't going to turn into sex, not after this. But it was appreciated nonetheless. "And… I mean, I get it. Diddling the Sheriff's underage son isn't something you'd want to do if you liked living. Especially since he likes you so much," he smiled ironically.

"Diddling?" Derek said, and raised an eyebrow.

"Would you rather if I'd said 'fucking'?" replied Stiles, and cracked up halfway through. Derek laughed too, and held him tighter. He pushed Stiles' head into his chest, making him feel the chuckle reverberate through him. After a few seconds silence was back.

"I need a shower," Derek almost groaned, as if anything that meant letting Stiles go was an absolute chore, but he did anyway. Stiles half hoped that Derek would get undressed in the bedroom, but he was disappointed to see that he walked to the bathroom fully clothed. Stiles then saw his own clothes that he had worn before, strewn about on the other edge of the bed. He picked it all up and folded it, and laid them on the chair. He heard the shower turn on and heavily sat back down on the soft duvet.

As he tried to find something to occupy himself with, he fished out his book of spells from his pocket.

Maybe there's more interesting spells in here, he thought.

He flicked through some pages, and found some potions, something about the phases of the moon and their effects on magic, that same spark spell, a healing spell—

A healing spell could be useful, he thought.

He opened to the right page and studied it. It was pretty much the same layout with the previous one. Visualizing the flesh completely healed and then proceeding to perform a few hand gestures at it was supposed to be all there was to it. Stiles memorized them, and decided to perform it on himself. He lifted his shirt and breathed heavily as he prepared. He wondered if there was a possibility of him doing it so badly that it actually caused some damage to him. He decided to ignore that thought.

Performing the spell for the first time was actually a lot easier than the first time he performed the other one.

I'm getting the hang of all this business, he hoped. As he performed the final step, a chill ran down his spine. The minor soreness in his abdomen disappeared.

"I did it!" he laughed to himself and raised a fist. Then the soreness returned and he put it back down, but the smile remained. Even if his success was short-lived, it had been there.

He leaned back and sighed, and stayed there for a few minutes, resting against the headboard. Then he got up and walked downstairs as he waited for Derek. On the coffee table he found his mobile phone and he picked it up. As he walked back to the bedroom he thought of calling Scott to keep him company, but he remembered he was supposed to be sick and resting. He collapsed on top of the bed once again and decided to just wait. He was now aware of Derek's scent between the covers and that thought had to be enough. Then the water stopped running.

Huh. That was quick, actually, Stiles thought.

After a few seconds the door opened and Derek walked out, still soaking wet with a towel wrapped around his waist. Stiles bit his tongue so hard he thought it was going to come off. Then he walked into the bedroom.

"You know, you can put your clothes in my hamper," he said, as if nothing was going on. Then, a wide grin broke across his face when he'd heard Stiles' heartbeat rising like crazy.

"Sure," he said, and grabbed his clothes. When he walked past Derek to get through the door it practically required every single bit of his consciousness to not jump at him. He quickly walked away to prevent himself from running back. He walked to the bathroom and opened the hamper and dumped everything inside. Before he walked out, he took a look at himself in the mirror and sighed.

Derek doesn't want sex, Stiles thought to himself. Hopefully, that's just for now.

He began strolling along back to the bedroom. When he got back, he walked in while Derek was pulling up his boxers, with his back turned to him. Stiles shut his eyes so hard, they were going to pop back into his head, and bit his fist.

"What?" Derek said, with a smile. Stiles opened his eyes and saw Derek facing him with his smooth, chiseled body. His tight, tight boxers didn't leave much to the imagination.

Fuck it.

Stiles lunged at him and smashed his lips against Derek's, who moaned in protest. Instead, Stiles pushed him into the bed and landed on top of him. They made out for a few seconds before Derek realized what Stiles was trying to do, and attempted to pull back.

"Stiles, come on—" Stiles put a hand over Derek's crotch and started rubbing while he sucked on Derek's neck, shooting chills up and down his body. Derek leaned his head back and closed his eyes, as he moaned at the touch. He put his hands on Stiles' waist and his fingers shyly inched their way up his top. When Stiles removed his hand and laid the both flat on Derek's chest, resuming to rub himself against his boxers, Derek pulled out his claws and ripped off every piece of clothing that was covering Stiles' torso and flung it away, drawing a gasp from him. Then they smiled at each other and their kissing resumed for a few seconds before Derek flipped Stiles on his back and got on top. He shoved his hands beneath his delicate body and stopped when he felt the bandage.

"Stiles," he said, and looked at it. Stiles got the point.

"Oh, right," he said. "I should take that off too." His hands moved to the clip, and Derek was about to stop him, but he was too curious about what had happened of the cut. When Stiles removed it he was very glad to see that there was nothing but bruising and redness left, as well as hints of a scar.

He healed faster than a werewolf, thought Derek. Thanks to Deaton.

Stiles tossed the bandage aside and put his hands on the back of Derek's neck, but Derek didn't move.

"What?" Stiles said. "It's fine."

"I can see," said Derek. He was dying to feel Stiles' skin against his own, and he could see Stiles was dying to relieve him. But he needed to know.

"Stiles, if this is going to happen now, I need to know if you're sure; one hundred per cent." Stiles just stared at him.

"I'm really, really sure," Stiles nodded. Derek let go of all his inhibitions and went for Stiles' pants as they both occupied their mouths with each others. He pulled them down along with his underwear, and Stiles' breathing got quicker as he was fully exposed to Derek's touch now. He kicked off his shoes and opened his eyes to look at Derek's face. His brow was furrowed in passion and he closed his eyes again. Derek started throwing quick kisses at Stiles' neck as he slowly moved down to his chest and to his abdomen. His light pecks around the bruising were gentler, but when he got to Stiles' cock he was gentle no more.

Stiles arched his back and put his hands on the back of Derek's head. Lights flashed behind his eyes as his cock was taken in his mouth and it hardened instantly. A brief wondering about where Derek got his skills rushed through his mind, but Stiles couldn't focus on anything. Derek bobbed his head up and down as he breathed heavily through his nose. Abruptly, he stopped and ran the tip of his tongue over the hole and around the tip while Stiles laughed at Derek's teasing. He quickly got back to business, and Stiles made himself focus hard enough so he could actually lift his head and look down at Derek. His cock was wet and sloppy; Stiles didn't realize when he'd managed to get it so full of his spit.

Derek was actually bent over with his back arched and his butt sticking out into the air. Stiles couldn't help but admire how hot that ass looked, ever from this angle. He let his head drop back down on the bed and moaned loudly. Derek apparently decided it was a good point in time to demonstrate what his lack of a gag reflex meant for him, sex-wise. He took the entire length of Stiles' hard on down his throat and Stiles jumped.

"Oh my God!" he yelled. "I'm gonna cum if you keep that up!" Derek took this as an indication to remove the dick from his mouth, and laid his tongue flat on the lower side while he held it in his hand. He ran his tongue down the entire length of it, right between Stiles' balls and stopped when he reached his asshole. He pulled Stiles' legs up and over his shoulders, exposing his ass completely. He looked at him with a mischievous grin, and he knew he had Stiles where he wanted him. Derek could practically do anything he wanted with him by now. He teased and toyed with his asshole using his mouth, and Stiles moaned in bliss as Derek rimmed him.

Stiles must have really wanted it, because before he knew it, Derek had easily managed to pop a finger in his ass. He worked it around as he licked Stile's balls, who clenched the duvet with his clawed fingers. His eyes rolled back while he felt Derek's finger in his ass, his tongue on his balls and his stubble on the area between the two. It took a little while for Stiles to notice that Derek's other hand was down his boxers fondling his own erection, creating a big stain on the front of this underwear. Soon, two fingers were inside. Derek was grunting by now, and Stiles was gasping for air.

Suddenly, everything stopped.

Stiles looked up with widened eyes, ready to protest, but he saw Derek completely naked, standing in front of the bedside table with the drawer opened. Stiles marveled in his perfection. Every muscle was in perfect proportion, and his now exposed dick was beautiful. Derek produced a wrapped condom from the drawer, and ripped it open with his fangs. He quickly put it over his cock and the lube followed suit. He was quickly back on top of Stiles.

"Ready?" he asked in a gruff voice, as if he needed further confirmation of Stiles' certainty. He had positioned himself at his hole, and the tip brushing against Stiles' asshole was torturous.

"Just fuck me already," he breathed without thinking. That was all Derek needed.

He pushed his way in, and Stiles gasped. It had looked of a normal size, but now, it seemed like it filled him up entirely. Derek grunted and thrusted in an animalistic way while Stiles moaned and ran his nails across Derek's wide back. He didn't seem to notice, and Stiles could see himself in the mirror behind them. Derek's ass was in full view for Stiles to admire, and his tattoo rippled as the muscles on his back shifted.

Derek moved his body down and held Stiles tight now. His thrusting continued as vigorously as ever and he called out Stiles' name every now and then. His eyes were lost, too big a part of his brain was focused on the pleasure he was receiving to be able to actually look at anything and recognize it. Stiles bore an expression of utter ecstasy.

Then, Derek stood up, and picked Stiles up with him. He didn't think of questioning it; Stiles just wrapped his arms and legs around Derek and went with it. As Derek walked, his cock bounced in and out of Stiles, drawing out some vulgar and loud exclamations of satisfaction. When he reached the bathroom he kicked the door open, stepped into the tub, and let Stiles stand on his own.

"Turn around," he commanded him. Stiles complied, and Derek pushed him against the wall. Stiles bent over and put his hands on the wall in front of him. At the same time as Derek pushed his tongue back into Stiles' hole, he felt a hot jet of water splash on his back. He started rimming him again, harder this time. He made sure to go above, below, and inside. It seemed to Stiles like he was going on forever, and the tingling sensations spiked through his entire body. He waited for Derek to resume fucking him, but that moment didn't look like it was coming anytime soon. Stiles just felt so empty, and between wanting to feel Derek back inside him and having his tongue play with his ass, he was losing his mind ever so slowly.

"Derek, fuck me!"

Suddenly Derek stood up and once more, he was entirely inside Stiles in one thrust. Apparently he got some kind of kick out of doing what he wanted with Stiles and getting him to beg for it. The new position made him go crazy. Each time Derek went back inside, he hit something deep inside Stiles that made his toes curl. It was only a couple of minutes before he was screaming on the top of his lungs and grabbing his own cock as it spurted cum all over his feet. Stiles' knees felt weak as the levels of mind-blowing ecstasy rose higher and higher. The fucking resumed, and soon Derek was bent over on top of Stiles. He pressed into his back, and nibbled at the back of his neck. He grabbed Stiles' cock and played with it, which was ten times as sensitive now that he had ejaculated. He yelped and grabbed Derek's wrist tightly, but he didn't stop. Stiles' toes were curled so tight, he thought they were going to make holes into the floor of the tub.

Derek's movements picked up the pace. Stiles was constantly surprised, thinking he was feeling as good as it was possible to feel, and then Derek proved him wrong time and time again. He was grunting harder now, and he was fucking him harder too.

"Fuck, Stiles!" he yelled, and that was when he pulled out. The condom was flung aside and Derek thrust his cock between Stiles' thighs, beneath his cock. He grabbed them both in his fists and thrust as fast as he could, pleasuring himself and Stiles at the same time. It didn't take long for five thick, hot jets of cum to erupt from Derek's rock-hard erection as he growled and grunted at the same time. If Stiles could see him, he'd see that his eyes were glowing.

As soon as he was done, he sat down in the tub with his legs spread, and Stiles sat between his thighs, resting his back against Derek's body and his head on his shoulder. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles' body, and Stiles held Derek by his forearms. It took several minutes of heavy breathing and water cooling them down for them to be able to form words again.

"I can see why you were so eager to do that," Derek said. Stiles was too tired to answer. "You don't have any regrets, right?"

"Would you stop with that? That was the best feeling in the world, why would I have any regrets?" Stiles responded. He felt Derek chuckle.

"I think you're giving me a little too much credit," he said.

"Well I don't really have much that can compare to that, but let's just say it's the best so far." Derek paused.

"To be honest, it was the best for me too." Stiles didn't know what it was, but he felt warm inside at that comment. To be the best sex the brooding, tantalizing Derek Hale, who could have anyone he wanted in his bed, had ever had was no small feat.

The two of them remained in the tub for as long as they could without physically turning into creatures of the water. They cleaned each other off, and they rushed back into the bedroom when they heard the others' cars pull up. They didn't bother with putting anything on; they just fell asleep with one's naked skin tight against the other's. Stiles didn't dream that night, but he did smile all through the night.


	7. Marco

Stiles ran. The dead leaves didn't crunch under his feet, for it was raining and they had gone soft. The rain was also masking the sound of his predator's footsteps. He had no way of knowing where she was, whether she was ten feet or ten miles away. But he was sure it wasn't the latter.

He ran faster, the adrenaline fuelled his legs. The blood pumped through him at a dangerous speed and his eyes watered. He was alone, and he was being chased like a dog. There was nothing he could do to save himself. He tripped and crashed into a tree, but the cold had numbed all his nerves. He turned back around quickly and pressed his back to the tree. His eyes shot from left to right, looking for any sign of movement. He had to do something.

Immediately, he thought of a fireball in his mind, and within a second he performed a well-practiced spell. The ball of heat sprang from his hands and whooshed at another tree, where he thought he saw something. The trunk went black, but didn't catch on fire. It was too wet. Stiles was barely able to conjure up any fire at all, let alone make out a decent target. But suddenly, the footsteps were audible. They were clear. And they were close.

As the distance became smaller, he still couldn't see her. He was certain she was coming from somewhere in front of him but there was no shape that resembled her in the shadows. Stiles' eyes widened, hoping that maybe he could see her before she found him. He glanced from left to right again, and that was when the ground started shaking. The rumbling grew stronger and stronger, until he was forced to get down. He tried to keep his eyes on alert, but it was useless. In the commotion, a hand reached out from behind him and grabbed him by the throat.

She slashed his throat.

Stiles flung out his arm in a pathetic attempt to protect himself, and ended up punching Derek in the stomach. He bent over and coughed, the surprise causing the reaction more than anything else. Stiles realized they were both still in bed, and Derek had been bending over Stiles trying to wake him up from his evident nightmare.

Fuck, he thought. He was about to ask Derek if he was okay, when he noticed the source of the thunderous earthquake of his dream. His phone was buzzing.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Morning Stiles." It was his father. "I haven't seen you since yesterday morning, thought I'd just check in. You slept over at Scott's right?"

Stiles swallowed. He hated lying to him, but he didn't really see an alternative to this.

"Yeah," he said simply. He looked at the clock. "We're actually getting into a class right now."

"Good," he said, satisfied. Stiles was thankful that his dad wasn't looking into his eyes. He'd be able to see the lie. "See you later," he said and hung up. Stiles pushed the red button and turned to Derek.

"Shit!" he exclaimed.

"What?" Derek asked, confused, but not alarmed.

"I'm late for school," he said, and jumped out of bed. His abdomen hurt a little, but that was the least of his problems at the moment.

"No, you don't have to go to school today," Derek reassured him, not moving from the softness of the bed.

"Why not?" Stiles asked, the frown lines lightening up.

"I gave Scott a note to give to the school today, excusing your absence. I didn't think you'd be well enough to go in today." Stiles smiled.

"Who did you sign it as?" he asked.

"Your father," Derek said.

"So, you faked the Sheriff's signature?" Stiles asked with his eyebrows raised.

"It's fine," Derek asked. "They wouldn't think to call him and check it, nobody would be stupid enough to risk that."

"Except… you?" Stiles said with a smirk.

"Or am I pure genius?" Derek smirked back. Stiles thought about the classes he'd be missing, but he wasn't about to pass on an entire morning with Derek. He let out a small laugh and became aware of himself. He was naked and standing right in front of Derek. He was naked too, but his lower body was under the covers as he sat on the bed. Derek looked Stiles up and down and his eyes flashed red, savoring every inch of the body he'd roughly made love to the night before. Stiles confidently crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"And what would you be staring at?" Stiles asked with a devious grin.

"Oh, nothing in particular. Just observing," he said.

"You know, this relationship is becoming very sexual, very soon. Even for a normal one. And to think you were the one who wanted to keep sex off the table," Stiles teased some more.

"Well if you're not comfortable with something like intercourse, maybe we can just keep it on pause for a little while… Maybe a few months, just to get things straight in your head," Derek countered with a smirk just as devious. He flipped the covers off him and stood up as he slowly walked to Stiles. He had to admit, Derek's body was as hot as they come. He couldn't decide on a favorite body part.

"Things are definitely straightened out in my head," Stiles said and laughed as Derek smiled at him and neared him, obviously going for a kiss. "But, if you're having doubts—" he laughed some more and was cut off as Derek's lips –and his entire body- pressed against Stiles'.

"That didn't feel doubtful, now did it?" Derek asked quietly as he held Stiles.

"Not particularly," Stiles' smiled. Their faces were so close every time he spoke his lips brushed against Derek's. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. The second time he spoke.

"I was going to say something cute but your stomach is just unbelievable right now," Derek said.

"How the hell can you hear that? I can barely feel it!" Stiles protested. There was really no privacy at all when you were living with werewolves. Derek chuckled his deep rumble of a chuckle and Stiles felt his body reverberate.

"How about some breakfast?" Derek suggested.

"Okay," Stiles accepted, not really needing any further encouragement. "Nothing fancy like last night though."

"Oh don't worry, I won't be doing that anymore," Derek said and took a serious face. "I was just trying to get you to put out." Stiles grinned and pinched Derek's ass. He reluctantly got dressed, unlike Stiles who jumped at the opportunity to submerge himself in Derek's clothing once more. Soon enough they were downstairs, and they were alone. Erica's brand new car was gone, probably at school with Isaac. Derek highly valued their getting a decent education. He was like a father to them. Stiles considered asking Derek who and why bought that car, but he decided it didn't really matter.

"So, what's on the menu for today?" Stiles asked as they barged through the kitchen door.

"How about glazed ham?" Derek joked lamely.

"I was thinking about something along the lines of pancakes, but if you want the ham…"

"Pancakes sound like an okay compromise."

They both got to cooking like a happily married couple. Stiles made the mix and Derek let him light the gas with his spark spell, before he fried them. He didn't trust Stiles to actually make them in fear that they would turn out to be globs instead of flat. Only a few minutes later, they were both sat down and eating. Every time food was involved, they were both quiet. Like a match made in heaven.

Stiles thought about the nightmare he'd had. Could his predator have been Janice? She wasn't really out for revenge, was she? She'd probably just enjoy her freedom; seek to find a different pack to join.

"What are you thinking about?" Derek suddenly said, pulling him away from his thoughts. Stiles looked at him blankly.

"Nothing in particular," he said.

"You're blood pressure was raised, like you were worried, like it was serious. 'Nothing' isn't serious," Derek said. Stiles sighed.

"Just Janice," he said reluctantly. Derek's face went from curious to pained.

"She's gone for now Stiles. Don't think about her," he said solemnly.

"She's still out there."

"And she's weak. And alone. Don't worry."

"Is that why you're having every member of the pack over at four? To discuss how easily you can take care of her? How can you say there's nothing to worry about?"

"There's nothing to worry about because I'm not letting her get to you again." Stiles didn't reply. He just looked at his Alpha and sighed. They began eating once more, in silence.

"Thanks," Stiles said when they were both done. He got up with his plate in his hands, ready to wash it. Instead, Derek grabbed it out of his hands and shove both their plates in the sink. "Derek, I'm not helpless, you know. There's some things I can still do on my own. For example, I don't want you to go through all the trouble of making me a big romantic dinner, or protecting me from the big bad wolf, or even cleaning up after me. I just—" Stiles stopped when Derek turned around. There were tears in his eyes begging to be set free.

"You died, Stiles. You were practically dead in my arms, and Deaton saved you. What if he'd gotten here a couple minutes later? What if his healing wasn't good enough? Do you even know how lucky you are to have healed so quickly? If anything bad happens to you ever again, and if I can't say that I've done everything I could have possibly done to stop it, I don't know if I'd be able to live with that. You have no idea how much you mean to me Stiles. All of this," he said, and gestured to the air between them, "this might just be the result of yesterday for you, or it might just mean the world, and that's okay. But for me, the only thing I know is that, for me it's too big for words."

Stiles could do nothing but stare. He had definitely not been expecting that kind of reaction, over something so simple. Derek had opened himself up to him, he had shown himself when he was at his most vulnerable, and Stiles remembered that he'd cried when Janice had attacked him. He really wondered if Derek was in love with him. One thing was certain; Stiles' heart broke when he saw Derek so hurt, and knowing that it was him that caused those tears just ripped him apart. But he kept it to himself. He slowly and quietly walked to Derek, and put his arms around his waist. After a few seconds, he felt Derek let out a huge sigh, and his body relaxed. He hugged Stiles back.

"Okay," said Stiles. They stood there for two entire minutes, until Stiles could hear Derek's heartbeat go back to normal by keeping his head pressed against Derek's chest. "I'll go check on Scott, see what happened with school. I'll be right back," he said in a low voice, and waited to see a look of approval from Derek's face, like he didn't need for him to stay in his arms a little longer.

He sat on one of the couches and dialed Scott's number. The line rang twice before Scott sent him a busy tone, and a minute later, a text saying he was already in class and couldn't talk. Stiles texted him back asking what happened, if everything went okay with his absence 'excuse'. Scott didn't reply for a little while, and Stiles feared for the worst. The school would have called his dad, and Stiles would be in the biggest trouble he'd been in since he'd gotten him fired. He couldn't believe what was happening when Scott replied, saying all was fine.

Derek walked through the kitchen door, and stood behind the couch, just above Stiles. He leaned over the back and put his face next to Stiles'.

"I've cleaned the dishes," he said.

"Such a good little housemaid," teased Stiles. Derek playfully nibbled on Stiles' shoulder as revenge.

"So, what happens now? What do you usually do when your entire pack is stuck in school?"

"Well, I normally do a lot of thinking and training…" he said softly.

"Thinking about what?"

"About the problem we're facing. There always seems to be some kind of problem going on."

"True," Stiles admitted. "So now we need to come up with a plan to get rid of Janice."

"That's right," confirmed Derek.

"And by get rid of her, you mean kill her." Derek glanced into Stiles' eyes for a second, but continued.

"Yes."

"Okay, so let me help you. There's loads of things in the book about werewolves and their weaknesses. I can look for traps, barriers, attacks, and maybe we can ask Deaton, too." Stiles thought Derek looked thoughtful for a second, like he was contemplating Stiles' idea. He was proud of it; it was one where he was the main character. But Derek didn't have time to reply. He'd heard a car approaching, and was suddenly apprehensive. Stiles mimicked the change in emotion, without knowing its cause just yet.

"There's a car," Derek explained, while staring at the door. "I don't recognize it."

"It might not be someone bad," Stiles suggested.

"Yeah, well, I don't think the ice-cream man comes around here," Derek said and got up. He went to the door and pulled it open, slowly walking out. Stiles followed hesitantly.

"Stay back," Derek commanded. Stiles decided to listen to him. For all he knew, there was a rampant hunter who had decided to torch the house again. He remained in the door frame as Derek walked down the porch steps. Only a few seconds later, a Mustang appeared from within the trees, the engine revving. It was parked right in front of the house, next to Derek's Camaro. It went quiet, and three men got out.

"Derek Hale?" the driver asked. They took his silence as confirmation, and positioned themselves in front of him. All three of them stood in line, with their arms crossed. He continued.

"My name is Marco," he said. "I'm the Alpha of my pack, and these are two of the Betas. Our territory is just north of yours. A rather… distraught woman walked up to my pack last night. We thought she was a human, but, as it turns out, she was a wolf that had been resting here," he said, and nodded at the house, "from her struggles as an Omega. And I use the term 'resting' very loosely," he continued. Derek remained as he was at all times.

"Anyway, long story short, she informed me that your pack consisted of a mere three or four Betas and a few humans. And my pack consists of seventeen quite capable Betas. Now, the size of your territory is almost three times that of our own, yet the size of your pack is three times smaller. You're a smart man Mr. Hale; I hope you can see where I'm going with this." Derek growled.

"You have a week to inform us of your decision," Marco went on, ignoring Derek's threat. "Just to be clear, our request is this: give us your land before we are forced to take it." At this, Marco's unconvincing smile turned into an ugly and twisted expression that was meant to be intimidating, Stiles guessed. It succeeded. He noticed that all the wolves were ignoring him. He guessed it wasn't because they hadn't noticed him; his heart was racing, they would have heard that. Maybe they just smelled that he was a human, and didn't think much of him.

"Thank you for your time," Marco said courteously, and gave a tiny bow. He retreated to the car and got in, and his Betas followed. The Mustang engine revved into life, and the car was expertly driven off. The Betas hadn't said a single word while they were standing on either side of their leader – Stiles assumed they had only come to make Marco look more imposing, and in case things got ugly. Derek remained standing where he was.

"Derek?" Stiles called.

No response. Stiles walked out of the house and stopped behind Derek, and put a hand on his back. His muscles immediately relaxed and he let out a heavy, heavy sigh.

"Derek?" he asked again, lighter. He turned and looked at Stiles. His expression was tense, and the muscles in his face were tight but he showed no other emotion; his mouth neither smiled nor frowned and his eyebrows were completely still. There was nothing there, like he'd gone void.

"You okay?" he asked Derek.

"Yeah," he said. Stiles raised his eyebrows, expecting more. "I have to tell this to the rest of the pack," Derek said reluctantly.

"That's not a bad thing," Stiles said, frowning. "You can get their advice on what to do… I told you, you don't need to be the one who's always responsible for everything, and you don't need to be the Alpha who always makes all the tough decisions. Being in a pack is what makes us all stronger, literally. Wolves are stronger in a pack, in a team. Talk to them, Derek."

"It's not that simple," he said in a flustered tone. "They're teenagers. I can't tell them that they're forced to fight for their lives or run like hell." Stiles looked at him with pained eyes. He really did care about them, even if he did give them grief every time he saw them.

"You're not the one forcing this upon them, Marco is. You can't blame yourself for everything bad that happens to us."

Derek ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired of this crap."

"Tired of what?" Stiles said, taken aback.

"Tired of this Alpha business. I'm in my mid-twenties, and I'm trying to lead a pack. I have no idea what I'm doing Stiles. Did you see that guy? Marco had to be at least forty; I can't beat that kind of experience. Even if he wasn't born a wolf, I can't do this on my own."

Stiles' eyes flicked from his veined neck, to his eyes.

"So don't. Let me help you." Derek scoffed very softly, and a small, sad smile appeared. "I can help," insisted Stiles.

"Really?" Derek said, and looked into Stiles' eyes. There was a very small hint of appreciation there, but not enough. He just came off as cold and mocking. "You can fend off seventeen werewolves all of a sudden?"

"At least I can help you," Stiles said. "Let me do something, you know, I'm in the pack too. This involves me just as much as any other member."

"Just—No, Stiles. I don't want to talk about this right now. I'll tell them when they're coming over later," Derek said dismissively. He started walking towards the house.

"Derek, stop ignoring me!" Stiles shouted. Derek turned around with a face of confusion and surprise. "You have no idea how frustrating this is! You're just constantly falling apart in front of my eyes, and I want to help you because I love you, and you're not letting me!"

Derek scoffed again and gave another sad smile.

"First of all, you don't really love me; we've been together for a day, at best."

"I don't care Derek, I still love you."

"Come one, you're only a teenager."

"Well, I love you anyhow."

Stiles practically jumped at Derek's face and pressed his lips against Derek's. He felt Derek gasp, and he pushed his tongue forward, finding that of his lover's and playing with it. His hands roamed around the small of Derek's back, and they slowly moved up as they got into their embrace. Derek frowned and kissed Stiles back, with a new passion, so hard yet so caringly, like he was trying to take him in, have their bodies fuse and become one so he could be sure that he could keep Stiles away from danger at all times. Stiles' fingers were now in his hair, grabbing onto as much as they possibly could and pressing Derek's face into his own. He moaned as he felt Derek's hands move down until they cupped his ass. They squeezed and then they were holding him by his sides once more. Slowly, their thirst for each other was satisfied and the kiss lost its intensity, until they were both just holding each other and pressing their foreheads together, gasping.

"Believe me now?" Derek made a deep, grumbling noise from somewhere in his throat, like a contented cat purring in delight. "You know, you're the only person who doesn't want to be told that someone's in love with him," Stiles croaked.

They walked back inside the house holding hands. They'd walked through the front door when it hit Stiles.

I just told Derek I'm in love with him.

Where the hell did that come from? How did he even begin to think to think of something like that to say? He had never thought about Derek that way before, and he'd fallen in love with a wolf in one day.

I'm crazy. I'm not in love with him. Derek was right.

Wasn't he, though? He felt this strong emotion inside him, as if something had clicked; as if a tap had been left on and something warm was overflowing from within. Stiles felt safe, cared for, and important, emotions he hadn't had in a very long time. Some of the emotions that only Derek was able to make him have. Stiles stopped panicking. Suddenly, being in love went from a big, dark glob of worrying thoughts that ate away at him from the inside out to a bright, warm light that made everything look ten times better wherever its rays shone. A wide smile spread across his face.

"Stiles!" Derek called, loudly. The smile went away, and Stiles looked at Derek.

"Stiles, what the hell were you thinking about? I've been talking to you for about a minute now, have you heard anything?" Stiles stared him dead in the eyes, and looked for a quick fix.

"I was thinking that you're really, very, very sexy and I love you very much," Stiles said in an apologetic tone. Derek tried but couldn't help grinning. He closed the front door and walked to Stiles.

"You know, I love you too," Derek confessed, in a matter-of-fact tone. Stiles' eyebrows shot up.

"You do?"

"Yeah," Derek laughed. "How could you not have noticed? There's nobody as oblivious as you, I swear."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Stiles asked.

"Would you really have wanted me to have come up to you and say something like that before yesterday? Think about it," Derek said. He had a point.

"I would have liked to know," Stiles teased. "It would have given me a wider perspective of my romantic options."

"Between me and…" Derek trailed off sarcastically. Stiles pinched his nipple playfully as revenge, and Derek immediately grabbed his hand.

"Don't do that," he said sharply. "It causes… things."

"'Things' as in erections?" Stiles laughed and Derek blushed. A comfortable silence fell again. Derek had calmed down now, his mind had been cleared. Stiles noticed he was inadvertently good at helping Derek to get things straight in his head.

"So, the plan to deal with Janice is highly unnecessary, in my opinion," said Stiles, trying to take the amusing way into the conversation, and avoid conflict like before.

"Yeah, she's with Marco now," Derek said solemnly. Traces of a smile remained on his face.

"I say we find out what we can about them," Stiles suggested. "We need to know what we're dealing with. We only know that it's a seventeen-member pack, with or without Janice, and that's it, basically."

"Yeah, that's probably our best option right now," Derek agreed. "It's not like we can barge in there and hope to win. We'll get massacred."

"Okay, so research… My favorite," he sighed, and looked at Derek's eyes. "I don't suppose you have an internet connection here?" he asked, hopefully.

"Of course I do," he said, offended that his home was thought so lowly of. He walked off, and returned a minute later with a MacBook in his hand. Stiles gratefully took it and sat on the sofa, turning it on while placing it on his thighs. Derek sat next to him and stared at Stiles' face expectantly.

"What?" Stiles asked, when he no longer felt he could stand being stared at without reacting.

"Nothing, just waiting for it to power up," Derek said, and switched his gaze to the screen.

Soon enough, the process was complete and the MacBook was fully functioning. Stiles pulled up the internet browser, and typed in 'Beacon Hills' in Google Maps. The area was quickly brought up, and Stiles zoomed in until the entire Beacon County was clearly visible.

"Okay," he said, and traced a shape with his finger. "This is where we are, and this is Hale territory. So, Marco told us that his territory was a little north of ours, meaning that they should be located around here…" he said thoughtfully, and traced another shape, much smaller. "Now, they don't have much land, which means there's less room for error. Just taking any route that goes through their turf should be enough to bump into any one of them at some point.

"Also, the northern edge of their territory is exposed to a main road, meaning they'd have to be extra careful about revealing themselves at all times. If we, at any point, are hoping for an attack, using the element of surprise is our best option. If we go in from the south, and corner them against the road…" he continued, mainly to himself. He was completely engrossed in this, and Derek was a little impressed at the way his mind worked.

"But, anyway," Stiles said. "An attack like that can wait, that's not the plan right now. Maybe if I Google this area right here…" Stiles selected the name of the wooded area Marco's pack were living in and Googled it. Not much which was returned was interesting, except the fact that there seemed to be some old mines around.

"Look at this," Stiles said, talking to Derek for the first time since he'd began looking into all of this. "It says here that there are some abandoned mines in the mountainside over there. That's likely where they find shelter."

"Really? Abandoned mines?" Derek asked. "Even we have a house."

"You have to think that they're being forced to battle another pack for land. The conditions where they are right now must be awful if they're willing to take such a risk."

Derek made a face, not completely convinced. "That's all great, Stiles, but how does it help us?"

"To be honest, it doesn't really," Stiles said. "But it might help us discover something that might actually help us." Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles seemed stuck, like he didn't know what to do with the information he'd found out. He just stared at the screen and waited for it to speak to him. Derek broke the silence.

"I really don't want you to get hurt in the midst of all this," he said.

"Yeah, me too," Stiles replied. Derek's worries about Stiles being in danger made him remember about the nightmare he'd had, about the woman chasing him. He hoped it wasn't Janice. If it were, it was just as much reason for Stiles to hate her. Not only did she put the Hales on Marco's map, but she dream-killed Stiles. Also, she'd almost real-life killed him and hurt Derek too.

"Janice is really irritating me right now," Stiles announced.

"Yeah, me too," Derek mimicked.

"Next time I see her, I'm gonna light her up," he said, and clicked his fingers.

"With your little sparkly trick?" Derek teased.

"No," Stiles said, in a dramatically offended tone. "I can make fire now." He proceeded to do the spell and was proud of himself for doing it very quickly. Soon enough, a small flame emerged from his hand.

"Nice work, now you can say 'yes' when people say 'Got a light?'" he teased some more. Stiles made a face and looked back to the computer.

"I feel like something is wrong here," he said.

"Wrong, how?" Derek asked, squinting.

"This can't be it," he said. "Their location is all the information we have on them. It can't be that this is all that it leads to, the fact that they live in an abandoned mine."

Derek looked confused, like he wanted to help. Suddenly he was the one feeling powerless.

"Why don't you try looking up the mines?" he suggested.

"I don't really see how that's gonna work, by why not?" Stiles mumbled and Googled the name of the mine. He skimmed through the first few results, until his eyes fell on the word 'Police'.

"Wait, what's that?" he said, and pulled up the search result. It was an article on an arrest the local police had made at the mines the year before, saying that they found a man in his forties and a few others in their mid-twenties lurking around, and they suspected them for drug abuse. As it turned out, there had been no evidence, and they were let go.

"It says they didn't have anything on any of them, except the one around forty years old. He had to stay the night," Stiles said.

"On the account of what?" Derek asked. Stiles didn't answer at first.

"Public urination."

"What?"

"Public urination."

"Are you kidding?"

"No, I'm serious, look, it's right here."

Derek skimmed the article himself, just to be sure. So, hopefully, it was Marco that had been arrested. Unfortunately, no names were mentioned in the webpage.

"If that was Marco that was arrested, then he has a record. They have a file on him in the Station with all of his information," Derek said, and looked to Stiles with his eyebrows raised, trying to get him to understand what was being implied.

Stiles just stared back, confused.

"Your father is the Sheriff. He has access to that file," Derek continued suggestively.

"How the hell am I going to get him to bring us the file?" Stiles asked.

"Maybe he's not the one that has to get the file. People know you in there. People trust your face; you just get into your dad's office for a little while, look through his computer, print out the file and get out of there."

Stiles frowned.

"I'm not sure," he said, unconvinced. "That's a little bit too much abuse of my dad's position in one day."

"What do you mean?"

"You used his name to excuse me from school today," Stiles explained.

"You know, you could have still gone. It's not my fault you can't keep away from this," Derek said, and pointed to himself. His face was completely straight, and Stiles couldn't help but smile at the unexpected joke.

"And even if I do do that, what are the chances that I'm gonna walk in when he's not there? He's the Sheriff; he's almost always at work."

Derek looked at him and sighed. "Then you have to be very, very quick." Stiles gulped and looked back at the screen. Derek got up and put on his usual leather jacket.

"Where are you going?" Stiles asked, confused.

"Police Station, come on."

"What, now?" Stiles asked while making wild hand gestures.

"Why, when do you think there's going to be a better time?"

"I don't know when he's at home, maybe?" Stiles said loudly.

"No, if he left the Station, he'd have turned off his computer. It would definitely need a password to log you back in," Derek said.

"And what if I walk in while he's there? What if people see me and tell him I was there? I'm meant to be at school," Stiles said. Derek thought about that for a second, and realized Stiles was right.

"Then we're going right after school," he said, and opened the front door.

"That's not for another two hours, where are you going now?"

"We should get you to train," Derek said. "That fire spell is going to come in handy too soon." Stiles saw the concern in Derek's eyes, and decided to comply.

Soon enough they were both outside the house once again, and Derek had made marks on the trees with his claws. The nearest one was a mere fifteen feet away, the one furthest was at least thrice the distance.

"Okay," he announced. "Think you can shoot a flame now?"

Stiles actually had no idea how to do that. He knew how to make it, but shooting it was a wholly different story. He thought maybe he should just throw it, and as he produced a flame, barely big enough to light a cigarette, he moved his hand behind his head, and flung it towards the nearest target.

The only thing he succeeded in was setting his sleeve on fire.

"How the hell am I supposed to figure this out on my own? Why don't we go over to Deaton's?"

"This isn't how the supernatural works, you can't just get a lecture about it and suddenly you're an expert. You have to understand it."

Stiles was thoroughly unconvinced.

"Try projecting the flame towards the tree, in your mind," Derek instructed. He took a few careful steps back and leaned against the porch railing, with his arms crossed. Stiles ignored the gesture.

Once again, he thought of the small source of heat and performed the necessary steps. He imagined that the target was Marco's face, and that the flame was flying towards it.

When the spell was completed, the fire flew forward a foot or two and was extinguished before it lifelessly fell to the ground.

"Well," Derek began hesitantly. "It's a start… Try again."

"Derek—"

"Just do it," he commanded. Stiles was getting agitated.

"Fine."

"Stiles, there's no need to get angry at me, I'm just trying to help."

"I know, I said I'm fine," Stiles said in an even more agitated tone. He put his hands together, and imagined a flame. This time it was different.

He felt his blood course through his veins. He felt hot all over, and the flame in his mind grew to the size of a golf ball. That little bit of anger was enough to fuel the magic inside him. He directed it towards the tree, and performed the spell. The fireball flew from his hands like a bullet. It whooshed through the air and hit the target with a blinding flash. Stiles grunted and felt the heated anger exit his body through the fire, and his vision suddenly cleared. Derek remained staring at Stiles like he didn't know him.

"Whoa," Stiles exclaimed.

"Are you okay?" Derek asked.

"Yeah, I-I'm fine," Stiles stammered, amazed at himself and at a loss for words. "It's like the magic took over me," he managed to say eventually.

"I noticed," Derek said. "I also noticed that the fire was much bigger now."

"It was?" Stiles said, still in a state of trance.

"Yeah, apparently your anger gives power to the fire," Derek said.

"Huh." A smile spread across Stiles' face, and it progressed to a little laugh of victory. "So I did it!"

"Well you still have a long way ahead of you, if you're hoping to use that in battle. A fireball twice that size should be something you're able to pull out in a second."

"Party pooper," Stiles replied. He conjured up a small fireball and flung it at Derek. He ducked and laughed. "Stiles!"

"What? Am I bothering you?" he continued joking and shot another one. He was missing on purpose, and it was actually giving him some target practice.

"Stiles, if you hit me I swear—" A fireball flew over Derek's head. In an instant, he pulled out his claws and lunged at Stiles, pinning his arms to the ground, and remained on top of him. Stiles only stopped laughing when Derek laid a kiss on his mouth.


	8. Lies & Secrets

Stiles laughed as Derek finished another one of his stories of when he was young and he used to mess around with his sister. He felt Derek laugh too, as he lay on top of him in his arms on the couch, where they had remained for the past few hours. Stiles couldn't have imagined himself to be more content, with his cheek pressed against Derek chest he felt like a small infant, being kept safe from all harm. It also made him remember how warm Derek was.

Stiles felt one of Derek's arms being lifted off him and soon it was set back down across the small of his back.

"You know, the school day finished about a half hour ago," Derek informed Stiles, and he knew what the wolf meant by that.

"So, we should be going by my dad's office?" Stiles asked, just in the wondrous case that that wasn't it.

"Yeah," Derek confirmed. Stiles sighed. He hated lying to his father, and sneaking past him. He'd done it many, many times before, but that didn't mean he didn't still feel bad about it.

"You know, we need an excuse for me to go over there," Stiles said.

"You can just say you wanted to take him some lunch," Derek suggested. Stiles' face clenched. That pushed it a little bit; it's not like Stiles was good at being a caring son, bringing him food and water every day. Maybe once a month, at best.

I knew I should have been showing my love better, Stiles thought.

"Well, I hope that's gonna work," he said. They both reluctantly got up, with Derek having to literally lift Stiles off him and put him on the ground. Derek grabbed his coat before he walked out the front door, and Stiles followed. He was still in Derek's clothes. As far as he was concerned, there was no way he was taking them off anytime within the year. They both got into the car and drove to the diner where they got a burger and soda in a doggie bag. The whole ride from the Hale house to the diner and from there to the Station, they'd been talking about how Stiles would be able to get his dad to leave the office, leaving him alone with the computer.

The conclusion was not a particularly reassuring one: Stiles was meant to simply judge the situation at hand, and grab any opportunity that presented itself to go through the files and find Marco's. He was just glad that they were in electronic form now, and that he didn't have to go through twenty cabinets' worth of documents. There had been discussion about "accidentally" spilling the soda, and getting his dad to leave the room for a little, but that would only give him half a minute, at most.

Too soon, they were outside the Station.

"So," Derek announced. "Ready?"

"Not really," Stiles said with a concerned face, but removed his seatbelt anyway.

"I'll be parked down the street. Try to stay calm." Remaining calm was not an option at the moment. Appearing calm was a possibility, but not actually staying calm.

Stiles got out of the car and walked inside. He saw the front desk and the woman obviously recognized him, as she smiled at him and gave a greeting.

"Hey," Stiles replied. "Just here to see my dad," he said, and kept on walking without stopping. He figured that if he remained confident and didn't show any sign of stopping, people wouldn't try to actually stop him and talk to him. Like a couple of kids trying to get in a club.

Kids can do this, he thought.

The woman eyed the doggie bag in his hand, but she ignored it. Stiles expertly navigated the corridors to his father's workplace. He wasn't even thinking about where he was turning, it was like driving a car or kissing. He just did it. His mind was preoccupied with the blood pulsing in his ears. Eventually, he turned right around a corner, and in front of him was a door with a glass window in it and a label which read 'Sheriff's Office'. The blinds were pulled down.

Stiles mournfully walked up to it and, after contemplating it for a few seconds and realizing the fashion in which he knocked wouldn't be able to give him away to his father, lightly knocked thrice.

"Yeah?" his dad called. Stiles opened the door and walked in, but he left the door slightly ajar behind him. He thought that if his father saw the door open, he would feel encouraged to walk out. He also thought that it was a very stupid plan.

"I brought you some lunch," he said and handed him the brown, paper bag. Mr. Stilinski looked carefully from the food, to his son with a concerned look.

"Did you do something wrong?" he said.

"What—Why do you have to doubt me? I'm just looking to spend some quality time with my father, who I haven't seen all weekend. Is that too much to ask for?" he said, only half-sarcastically.

Good, he thought. That sounded pretty normal for me.

"Alright, alright," he said and waved his hand, indicating for Stiles to stop his usual banter. He took the bag and looked at its contents, and made a satisfied noise.

"Thanks, Stiles. I didn't think I'd be able to get out of here to get any food today."

"Well, see, that's what I'm for." Stiles looked at a couple of big boxes of folders piled in the corner. "What's that?" he said, and nodded at them.

"Oh, just some old records. An old case's been reopened, and we had to bring them back up from the world's dustiest storage area." The Sheriff was about to dig in, when he hesitated for a second. "Actually, let me go wash my hands first. Wait here, don't break anything."

Stiles made a face and opened his mouth to protest, but as soon as his dad was out the door, luckily shutting it behind him, Stiles jumped from his seat.

Thankfully, his father was still logged on, so Stiles quickly pulled up the database. Going back to the home screen, he clicked on 'Search', and simply typed in 'Marco'. He guessed there weren't too may Marcos in the Beacon County area. He hit enter, and the screen switched to saying 'Loading…', with a little spinning wheel underneath. It seemed to Stiles like it was taking forever, and he jumped out of his skin every time someone walked by the office door. The database was still loading, and he still had to locate Marco's specific record out of the ones the results that popped up, and print it, all before his dad got back.

Suddenly, the loading screen went away. There were two Marcos.

Stiles clicked on the first one, and a couple of seconds later, the record was opened. The picture definitely didn't belong to the wolf that had visited the Hale house: it showed a Latino man, the Marco he was looking for was white as snow.

He closed the window with the wrong man, and opened the second one. Before he got a chance to check out the photo, his dad's voice could be heard outside the office. It was muffled, but he was having a loud conversation with someone. Stiles felt a bead of sweat go down his brow. He confirmed that he had found the correct record, and hit the print button.

Suddenly, the printer whined and grunted into life. Stiles hadn't thought about the noise it would make. His father's tone, however, remained unchanged.

The machine slowly ate up a sheet of paper, and only a few seconds later spat it out, with half the information printed on it. Then it made a loud noise, as the cylinder spun around, but found no paper to pull at.

It had run out.

Without thinking, Stiles jumped halfway across the room to the big cabinet, yanked the doors open and scanned the contents with his eyes. He saw the pile of blank pages on the top shelf, pulled out a few, and closed the doors. Leaping back across, he forced them into the printer, just barely managing to make it before it gave up in realization that there was no paper. Stiles' dad gave a loud laugh outside, indicating he had not heard the commotion.

The second page was quickly printed out, and Stiles assumed that the person the Sheriff was talking to was saying goodbye. Looking for a place to hide the paper, he just shoved both pages up his hoodie, and closed Marco's record on the computer. Everything was seemingly as it was before, and Stiles threw his body back into the chair so hard, it almost toppled over. As soon as he had settled down, his dad walked in.

He slowly went to his own chair and sat down with a grunt and a smile still on his face. He took the burger out of its bag, and went to take a bite, when he looked up and into Stiles' eyes. His face was red and sweaty. Mr. Stilinski put the burger down.

"Stiles?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you all red?"

Fucking hell.

"Because that's just how my face is, dad. I'm a pale person, I get red when it's hot."

"You think it's hot?" the Sheriff asked, and raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, I do."

"Because it just so happens that we don't have any heating in here today. The entire block's out," he said.

"Well…" Stiles trailed off. "I generally get hot very easily, you know? My body's just like that. Actually how do you not know these things dad, you raised me right?"

Good call, turn the questions on him.

His father looked him up and down.

"Did something weird happen to you at school, or something?"

"No, nope. Just a… Uh, a regular, old day at school."

"Huh. So what'd you do at school?"

Are you kidding me? Stiles thought.

"Nothing special… Classes, and stuff," he said dismissively. His dad looked at him with eyes that showed skepticism, but the desperate shake of his head showed that he wasn't ready to deal with Stiles being Stiles right now.

"I should get back to work," he announced.

"Sure, don't let me keep you," Stiles said, and got up a little too eagerly, itching to be out of there.

"Who brought you here, by the way? Your car's at home, isn't it?" Stiles gulped.

"Uh… Scott. He was going to pick up some milk for his mom while I was in here, so I'm just gonna head outside and wait for him," Stiles said. He was grateful Derek had parked down the street.

His father took a moment and nodded. "Okay. Well, thanks for the burger."

"No worries," he said and practically raced off. His march out of there felt more awkward than doing the walk of shame. As soon as he was out, he took a left and kept walking. After about half a minute he pulled out his phone and dialed Derek's number.

"Hey, should I come and get you?"

"Yeah, I'm just a little past the Station."

"I'm on my way. What happened?"

"He caught me," Stiles joked. He took a solemn tone on, just to be convincing.

"What! Damn it, what did he say?"

"He just told me to get out, and I left." He heard Derek exhale loudly on the other side of the line, and he almost felt bad. The smile on his face though said otherwise.

"Alright, I see you," he said and soon enough, Stiles heard the engine roar behind him. Derek pulled up next to him and he got in, closing the door and pulling out the records from underneath the sweatshirt.

"What's that?" Derek frowned.

"Oh, just Marco's record," he announced nonchalantly. Derek stared at him with a highly confused face, until he realized the truth and pinched Stiles' side, causing him to jerk upwards. Derek grabbed the paper from Stiles' hands and began skimming through it.

"Okay, so—" he began but stopped. He turned to Stiles with a satisfied grin. "These smell like you," he added like a little child before he continued.

"We should show these to the rest of the pack, they'll be over at my place any minute now," Derek said and started driving.

"Yeah, you're right." He began to skim through them as Derek navigated the car, and found some interesting details. Marco's address remained, to this day, unregistered, both parents deceased long ago, and there were also charges of drug abuse on his criminal record as well as the public urination. On top of all that, there were notes of Marco being involved in a child abuse trial, where, basically a bunch of people in suits decided what was to happen to his father for beating his young son. Then he noticed.

Both of Marco's parents' dates of death were identical.

Stiles wondered if they'd been killed, or been involved in an accident together. Since their son was a wolf, Stiles was inclined to guess it wasn't the latter. He felt a pang of pity in him, pity not just for Marco, but for everyone who had suffered from such a young age, just like Derek had. Losing almost his entire family was something Stiles could unfortunately relate to. He only had his father left, and Derek had no one but his uncle. Marco only had a brother who was still alive. Stiles also wondered if that brother was in his pack; or a wolf at all.

Sooner than he expected, Stiles found himself stepping out of Derek's car and onto his front "garden". Erica's car was also there, so Stiles guessed that she and Isaac were at home. They walked in to find he was right. They were both sprawled across the couches, but they sat up when he and Derek came through the door.

"Hey, you feeling better?" Erica greeted.

"Yeah," Stiles smiled. Isaac nodded at Stiles but Derek remained quiet.

"Did you just get here?" he asked his Betas.

"Yeah," Isaac replied. "Everybody else was coming up behind us; they should be here in a few seconds. Actually, I think I can hear their engines."

Isaac wasn't wrong. Scott's car was there only half a minute later, and Jackson's Porsche was only a few meters behind. Scott and Allison got out of the first, while Jackson and Lydia got out of the second. As they walked in, Stiles looked at Lydia's face for any sign of worry or discontent. Instead, he only saw her usual so-sick-of-anything-that-doesn't-involve-me expression. Strangely enough, that was a good thing for Lydia.

Eventually they had all sat around the coffee table, and Derek began.

"So, everyone… I was going to say 'You know why we're here,' but the truth is, you don't," he said. "As you all know, Janice is an Omega who was looking for a pack to join when she wandered into our land, but she's escaped." It seemed like Derek was picking his words extremely carefully, and Stiles opened his mouth to stop Derek. He thought it would be appropriate to fill Lydia in whatever had happened, but when he looked at her, she didn't seem confused at all. She actually appeared to be following, so Stiles guessed the others had gotten to that task during school, and he closed his mouth again.

"It seems like she found another pack, last night," Derek said. He was looking to the ground the whole time, like he didn't want to look the rest of his pack in the eye. Stiles, Allison and Lydia couldn't hear it, but his heart beat faster. His statement had drawn the confused looks Stiles had been looking for.

"She's found a pack of seventeen, and their leader is called Marco," Derek continued. He looked up and into Stiles' eyes, for reassurance. Stiles gave him a single nod, so the Alpha switched his gaze to the eyes of the rest of his pack. "Obviously, they're much bigger in numbers, but their land is considerably smaller than ours."

"What does that have to do with us?" Scott asked, purely confused. Stiles could see the confusion in everyone's faces, but the people who started realizing where Derek was going had a little bit of concern in their eyes.

"Well," Derek sighed. "Marco came over this morning. Janice told him about us, that we're not exactly the strongest pack there is. He gave us an ultimatum: either we fight for the land, or we give it to him and leave peacefully."

"But our houses are really close by," Allison said immediately.

"Yeah, what are we supposed to do, move out?" Isaac asked.

"No, we fight them off," Jackson said, always eager to take the violent option. "We might be less, but we're strong." Erica smiled at that comment; she was also one to enjoy a battle or two.

"Jackson, they're seventeen wolves; eighteen with Janice," Derek explained. "There's six of us, and three humans. How are we supposed to beat those odds?"

Scott remained quiet for some time. The shock appeared to be overwhelming. Lydia's face remained expressionless. She was highly likely to be regretting her decision to join the Hale pack.

"So we recruit," Jackson simply stated.

"It's not that simple, Jackson. I can't just go around biting people. The bite complicates everything, it changes your life. I can't do that to whomever I happen across. I have to ask them if they want it first, I have to tell them what they're getting themselves into. Especially about Marco. Nobody will want to join us," Derek said mournfully. He had obviously thought this over lots of times.

"So what do we do?" Lydia suddenly piped up. "We can't run, we can't fight. Is there anything we can do?" Nobody was expecting that from her. She remained as she was, with her legs and arms crossed. Stiles noted that she'd included herself in the pack in her words.

Derek looked at her and sighed heavily, then looked around at everyone, not keeping eye contact with anyone for more than a second, to save himself from noticing the disappointment.

"I'm not sure, yet."

Everyone's response was different this time. Stiles looked down, just so he didn't have to see the sad expression on Derek's face. Isaac rubbed his chin while he thought; Erica bore a face similar to that of a child which doesn't get what it wants. Allison, as she'd been leaning over with her elbows resting on her knees, sat back with a blank face when Scott's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Lydia grabbed her forehead and Jackson rolled his eyes. Stiles understood why Derek had been dreading this so much; initially he'd thought that Derek was simply overreacting.

Suddenly, Derek's phone started vibrating. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen before he answered it. His eyes widened as he recognized the number, and he immediately swiped the screen.

"Peter?" he answered. Everybody's heads shot up and looked at Derek. Stiles cursed under his breath. If he'd had werewolf powers, he'd be able to hear what was going on on the other side of the line.

"Yeah, we're all at home," Derek said with his eyebrows still high up. Stiles turned to Isaac, who he was sitting next to. His face was scrunched up in confusion.

"What's he saying?" he whispered.

"I don't know, there's too much noise on the other end," Isaac slowly explained.

"Okay, I won't leave," Derek promised. He hung up and put the phone back on the table without a word.

They all remained there for a few seconds.

"Well?" Stiles exclaimed finally, voicing everyone's thoughts.

"It was Peter," Derek said. "He's in California again, at the airport. He's trying to pick up a car to get to here, and he told me to stay at home throughout the day so I'd be here when he arrived."

Stiles recognized Derek's compliance. Peter was the only one Derek would let himself take an order from.

"Peter?" Lydia asked, concerned. "He's coming here? The one who tried to kill us all?"

"Lydia, don't worry," reassured Allison. "He's one of the good guys now, one of us. He's part of this pack. He helped us win against the Kanima." Lydia went quiet but didn't seem satisfied with that answer.

"Why is he coming now, though? What's so special about today?" Scott asked.

"I guess he finished whatever business he had been doing. He'll be here during the next couple hours," said Derek.

"Well, we're not going to be here," Lydia said snidely. "I have to be at Allison's place in less than twenty minutes for my first gun practice." Stiles looked to Allison in case Lydia was just providing a fake excuse. Instead, Allison nodded her agreement.

"That's okay; he's only asked me to be here. But, Scott and Stiles, it'd be good if you were here as well. Out of the rest of the pack, you're the two he's the most familiar with."

Scott nodded, but Stiles remained as he was. No matter what happened, or how many times Peter saved Stiles' life, he would still be the one who bit Scott and tried to kill them all. The one who'd attacked Lydia and trapped them all in the school.

That's not something you just forget, Stiles thought.

"What business did he have?" Erica asked.

"I don't know," Derek said. "He said he'd be back as soon as he'd taken care of some unfinished work back in New York."

"I wonder if it's about Laura," Scott said to nobody in particular.

"It doesn't matter," shot back Derek sharply, indicating that he was tiptoeing around a sensitive subject.

"He's totally bossing you around, you know," Jackson suddenly added. At this, Derek and Stiles both glared at him. Then nobody spoke.

"Well," Lydia said merrily, "I'd hate to leave but… I have to leave. Allison?" she called and got up. She briskly walked to the door and got out, while Allison followed with an apologetic look. Stiles heard her car groan into life.

"She's a real character, isn't she?" Derek said, with some loath in his voice. Stiles smiled.

"So what happens now? We just sit around waiting for Peter?" Isaac asked.

"It's not like there's anything else we can do, is it? I mean, we barely know anything about Marco and his pack," Jackson said.

"Actually, that's not so true," Stiles countered. Grabbing the pair of pages that had been face-down on the coffee table, he studied them once again as he talked. "As it turns out, Marco has a criminal record. So, this morning, we went poking around the police station and found his file. There's some pretty interesting notes on this guy," Stiles continued as he shifted his gaze from one piece of paper to the other.

"Public urination?" Isaac said, who'd been looking over his shoulder. "Really?"

"Yeah, but that's the least of them. There's plenty of charges on substance abuse and his dad was in a trial about child abuse. Maybe he beat Marco, maybe not, I'm not sure." Stiles stopped when he realized Isaac's dad had been abusive.

"Anyway," he said, trying to change the subject. Everyone had probably already heard his pulse go up. "It says here that he doesn't have much family and that his parents died on the same day. I don't think that's a coincidence, but there's nothing here to prove that. Also, we found out that his pack probably lives in some abandoned mines up north from here, maybe a ten-minute drive." He passed the record along for everyone to get a look at, and register his face in their minds from his unflattering mug shot.

"How does this even help us?" Jackson asked.

"It's better than nothing," Derek said, defending Stiles' efforts to get the record.

"Who's 'we'?" Scott asked.

"What?" Stiles asked and looked at him with his brow furrowed.

"You keep saying 'we' did this, and 'we' did that. Who's 'we'?" Scott explained.

"Oh… Well, me and Derek."

At this, Stiles saw Erica raise her eyebrow suggestively out of the corner of his eye.

"So are we going to fight these guys, or not?" Jackson asked.

"Jackson, I already told you, going up against them is like a death sentence. We can't do that," Derek explained once more, less patiently this time.

"Why don't we get help then? Don't you have any wolf friends that would wanna lend a hand you can call?"

"To be honest, that's what I'm counting on Peter to do. Get some help, call in some favors. Anything we do right now could be perceived as a challenge, but Peter is older. He's more experienced; he'll know what to do."

They all looked just a little bit concerned for their Alpha. He was always worrying, always trying for them. Nobody said anything; they just looked at each other.

"So," Jackson began. "What do we do now? Just sit around and wait for Peter?"

"No, I need you three," Derek said and looked at Jackson, Erica and Isaac, "to go do some scouting. See if you can pick up any foreign scents, maybe Janice's. Anything that might lead us to their hideout. But don't get too close guys, we don't need anybody getting hurt."

Stiles was expecting them to protest at being handed such a mundane task, especially Jackson, but he was surprised to find that they all eagerly complied. They nodded decisively and got out of their seats. Within a few seconds, they were out the door and gone.

An order's an order, I guess, he thought.

"You guys can go, by the way," said Derek. "Peter won't be here for a few hours, I wouldn't mind you leaving for an hour or something."

"It's fine, we'd like to keep you company," said Stiles.

"No, really," Derek repeated, more suggestively. "Why don't you go relax or something, get some food. Be back in an hour."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, letting him know that he realized Derek was trying to get them to leave. He didn't mind letting him have some time alone, but being shoved out like this was very strange. Stiles decided not to insist.

"Okay," he said. "Come on," he called to Scott and got up.

"But the cars are gone," Scott protested. "I came over with Allison, and she's gone with Lydia now."

Stiles decided this was a good enough excuse, something he hadn't thought of himself.

"Oh, so I guess we're staying here," he said, and looked at Derek. His expression was hard.

"Derek, is everything okay?" asked Scott. Stiles totally didn't expect him to pick up on that.

I should really give him some credit from time to time, Stiles thought, glad that he wasn't the one to ask that awkward question.

Derek looked to the ground and back into Scott's eyes.

"Yeah, uh…" Derek stammered. "Actually, can I talk to you Scott? In private."

"Oh, sure," Scott said, surprised by the gesture. They both moved by Stiles and walked into the kitchen, shutting the door behind them. Stiles remained standing where he was. He didn't move an inch; he was busy trying to sort through all the thoughts that were going through his head.

What the hell was that? What is he saying with Scott? Can't he trust me enough to tell me? I thought—No, I'm being clingy… Am I though? Don't I deserve to know? We're a pack; there shouldn't be any secrets between us.

Stiles shook his head. He was reading way too much into it. He sat down on the couch and simply stared at the turned off television. He wanted to be able to tell himself that it didn't really matter that much to him, but it did. Apparently, there was something Derek was keeping from Stiles, and he was doing it right in front of his face, on top of all that.

Suddenly the kitchen door opened, and Stiles jumped in his seat.

"Why are you so nervous?" Scott laughed, and walked to Stiles and sat next to him.

Okay, no, he doesn't get any credit.

"Nothing much," said Stiles, trying to brush the comment off as nonchalant. "Just… Excited that Peter's coming over."

Derek walked over and sat down on the other couch. He seemed nervous, too. Scott was obviously trying to hide a smirk, and failing.

"That's good," he said through pursed lips. "Me too."

Stiles awkwardly looked from Scott to Derek, and back.

"Guys, what's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing," they both said simultaneously.

"No, people don't talk at the same time in normal situations. I don't need to be a wolf to know that something is going on."

"Stiles, trust me, there's nothing going on," Derek said with raised eyebrows. Stiles was about to throw a snide comment about trust back, but he bit his tongue. Getting into an argument was not the best thing they could do right now, especially with Scott present. They all sat in awkward silence for a little while, before Scott talked.

"Why don't we watch the baseball game? I think it's started," he suggested. Having nothing better to do until Peter arrived, they switched the TV on and started watching the game. Scott, at one point, went into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of chips in his hands, which he set upon the table. Stiles stared at the screen but couldn't help but shake the feeling that something was off. Derek and Scott were sporty guys, but they weren't even making a sound when their team went ahead in the scores.

He glanced at Derek every now and then, not daring to stare at him for longer than a few seconds in fear that he turned around and caught him looking. He had tried to get Stiles to leave his house, and then he didn't even try to hide the fact that he had some sort of secret with Scott that Stiles wasn't involved in. Maybe he was being jealous and irrational, maybe not. One thing was for sure: there was nothing else he could think about.

The game was nearly over when Scott's head snapped around and looked at Derek, while the Alpha mimicked the motion. They'd both heard something, and Stiles turned off the TV for them to hear better.

"Is that-?" Scott asked.

"I think so," Derek replied.

They both rushed out of their seats and moved quickly towards the front door. Derek yanked it open and poked his head through.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "He's here."

It was only a few seconds later when a taxi pulled up outside Derek's house. The sun had already set, so it was difficult for Stiles to see, but he could make out a man getting out of the car and pulling a big suitcase out of the trunk. He slammed it shut and stopped by the driver's window. Then, he walked to the porch and looked at the three pack members.

"Hello, boys," Peter said.


	9. Practice Makes Perfect

The next few days wandered lazily by. Stiles couldn't wait for the weekend to come, so he could spend all of his time at Derek's house, even if Peter was there along with Erica and Isaac. They provided surplus company. That wasn't to say he wasn't over at the Hale residence every chance he got. Most afternoons he hardly touched his schoolwork on account of not being anywhere near it. His thoughts were mainly preoccupied by Derek, and in every class he was he smiled as he thought about his sour wolf; even during lacrosse practice. Scott caught him smiling every now and then, and he knew what his friend was thinking about. He felt happy for Stiles for it was not too long ago when he and Allison couldn't keep their hands off each other and Stiles just waited in the sidelines for someone to show an interest in him. Scott had even felt sorry for him sometimes, when Lydia walked by, and he saw the longing stare in his eyes.

However, all of this does not in fact mean that there was absolutely nothing else on Stiles' mind. He had never forgotten the incident on Monday afternoon when Derek attempted to kick him out, failed, and proceeded to make it very obvious that he and Scott were keeping a secret from Stiles. Every now and then it popped back into his head, and he couldn't help but wonder what was going on. He had considered trying to get Scott to tell him what the deal was, but there was no breaking him. Scott proved to be surprisingly strong-willed when he wanted to; an aspect of him Stiles had only seen when Allison's wellbeing was on the line. At least he acknowledged that there was something in the works.

Peter was also one of the issues remaining unattended to for long periods of time, way in the back of Stiles' head, not serving much purpose other than delicately collecting dust bunnies of various shapes and sizes. He still felt somewhat uneasy around the person who had come back from the dead, but it was nothing that the presence of Derek couldn't fix. As far as Stiles was concerned, Peter's arrival was a blessing. Derek had immediately told him everything there was to know about everything that had happened, as if all the information was a pure burden upon his shoulders, and passing it on to Peter was the first thing on his mind. The words flowed like a frothing river and Stiles had never seen Derek so panicked before, not since Janice's attack.

It was since then that things had started looking up. Only slightly, but they appeared to be better nonetheless. Peter had indeed had some contacts from a few towns over. He had called about ten of them that same Monday night, and by Tuesday noon, Derek's home was filled with strangers, even if only six of those ten had responded to the request. They all shared food, and they pitched in when it came to groceries. Two of them slept on the couches, while the other four slept in their cars, as Peter had taken up the last bedroom. The two were women, and the four were men.

Emma, being extremely short at 27, had straight hair of an orange so bright you'd think her head had been set on fire. Her size, though, was what made her so good in the field. Being one of the nimblest, graceful werewolves most of the pack had ever witnessed earned her their respect. Her tight clothes and heavy-duty combat boots reminded Stiles of Erica's style, but their way across the battle field was much different. Emma chose stealth and brains, while Erica chose an all out attack that impressed even Peter. Emma's eyes were a deep brown and her pointy features gave her an air of a predator of the night, especially one which liked to distract enemies and then proceed to climb high up on trees and come crashing down with an attack to take out even an unsuspecting Alpha in his fully-shifted form.

One of the men bore a striking resemblance to Boyd, with whom he shared the same skin tone and haircut. His name was Zachary, and even his imposing body structure reminded the pack a little too much of Boyd. When the Hale pack and the additional members had their first training together, it was obvious that this man could most definitely take a hit. It wasn't before each of the wolves had taken a scratch and a bite at him that he was forced to take a simple step back. Derek and Peter, who had been observing the vicious goings-on from the porch, both gave impressed looks when they'd witnessed Zachary's threshold for pain. They'd also witnessed his anger issues that arose at the mention of the name 'Zach'.

Next came up Michael, Stiles' favorite newbie. Like Zachary, he had only just gotten past 20 years of age, but that was the only similarity between the two. Michael was a skinny, scruffy, pale individual with black hair and green eyes. His height was pretty average, but his mind surpassed everyone's put together. His strategy in battle was definitely brains over brawn, and it was obvious even in everyday life that there was something special about this young man. Simply the way he spoke and handled himself, only at 22, gave him this air of mystique and pure genius that you rarely found amongst humans. Stiles wondered if it were because of his werewolf powers that his mind was so advanced, or that he was born like this. Either way, with mastermind Michael on their side, he wasn't worried about forming a plan.

The second woman was Maria. She was practically the exact opposite of Emma. Maria's hair was brown and curly, and it bounced along with every step she took, matching her energetic, cheerful personality. At 43, she had already had a son, and her usual attire showed off her curves. She was probably the one who had brought life into the Hale residence, light and humor, things which they had all mistakenly thought were not necessary. As it turned out, her loud jokes and addictive laugh lit a fire in everyone's heart, one which burned bright and warm and kept them all hopeful that maybe, through all of this trouble, there could be a happy ending.

Her son, Andrew, shared her quirky personality traits. He saw the best in people and in return, people saw the best in him. And it wasn't as if it was tough to let Andrew charm you. His ridiculous good looks, glistening smile and deep voice were just a bonus to the wondrous world inside his -and his mother's- head. Together, the two of them were enough to even draw a smile from Derek. Andrew was tall and lean, and he sported a buzz cut and short beard that accentuated his seemingly perfect features and smile. The perfect shade of light brown of his hair contrasted beautifully with the perfect shade of blue eyes which saw right through you at every glance. This man, only at 21, had the whole world figured out. He knew how people worked, how to charm them, how to manipulate them to his benefit by flashing a smile and a wink. In other words, a brilliant liar.

He seemed to have bonded unnaturally well with the last visitor, David. Stiles wondered if that was because they shared their exact birthday, or it was a mere coincidence. Either way, one thing was for sure: David was deadly. His obsession with bombs and explosives of other kinds made him an expert in collateral damage techniques and Stiles was sure that Michael had already thought of a way to incorporate David's flashy talents into a bloody, surprise attack. It seemed like it was an unspoken agreement between the entire Hale pack that there was no running to be done by anyone, only fighting. David shared the same body type as Jackson, with straight, black, shoulder-long hair, pale skin and blue eyes. His passion, unfortunately, was brought to light in a rather uncomforting way, the result of which was a tree burning down outside the house, but the fire was easily contained.

Stiles liked to think that he got on with Michael the best because he shared his sometimes irritably high IQ score. Jackson's insults did not fail to bring Stiles down from the clouds every single time, though. The atmosphere was changed the moment the visitors set foot in the house. They arrived one by one, and Maria brought up the rear with her son. At first, things were kind of awkward, which was to be expected considering that six strangers were forced by the circumstances to share a house with Derek, Peter, Isaac and Erica. The four of the Hale pack had a hard time living together on their own. But, by the time Tuesday night came around, every piece had fallen into place. Their common worry about what was to happen on Monday and small training session had brought them together. Derek and Peter, who together appeared to make up the leading members of the pack, decided that there was no other preparing to be done on that day. Then, Wednesday afternoon came round, and that was when their second training session was to be completed as a group.

"Okay, I think I've got it," Stiles said into his phone as he ended the call and shoved it into his lap while he tried to make the turn. The Jeep's wheels moaned in complaint at the sharp angle they were forced to take. At the end of the road he saw Allison waving to him. He flashed his headlights to show her he'd seen her, and Allison nodded in response. She walked off into a building on the right. As Stiles neared the end of the road, he saw the sign outside that very building, which read 'Beacon Hills Shooting Range'.

Stiles got inside the private parking lot and pulled up the handbrake with considerable effort. He was meant to train here with Allison, Lydia and Chris Argent, while the wolves of the pack were over at the Hale house, practically clawing each other's eyes out. Stiles wondered how he was to shoot a fireball in public, but he hoped that Chris had been informed of Stiles' specific 'talents' and had set up some sort of arrangement. He was also surprised to find that Mr. Argent spent his time training members of a werewolf pack. He appeared to be much more sensitive about the subject of hunting after everything that had happened with Victoria and Gerard.

Stiles walked through the double glass doors and saw a petite young woman sitting at the reception desk smiling at Allison and having some light conversation with her as she leaned over the top of the counter. Everything seemed too pristine and delicate for a shooting range. Stiles felt as if he'd walked into a dermatology clinic. As soon as Allison had heard him, she turned around and smiled.

"See you later," she said to the receptionist and waved Stiles over as she led the way through a door in the wall behind the desk and around multiple corners.

"Come on," she said. She walked confidently, like she knew the place inside out.

"Come here often?" Stiles asked.

"What makes you say that?" she asked back but kept walking ahead. They reached a corridor with two doors on each side. They took the second on the right.

"You seem pretty familiar with this place and the people," he explained. As they walked in, Stiles saw there were about ten stalls, only two of which were occupied by Lydia and Allison's dad.

"Well, when you're an Argent…" she turned around and muttered to Stiles, careful so her father wouldn't hear. He smiled at that.

"Ah! Stiles," Mr. Argent exclaimed as he saw the pair walk through the door and to him. Allison closed and locked the door.

"Hey Mr. Argent," Stiles greeted nervously. Lydia appeared unfazed by the new arrival.

"Come on, son," he said with a smile and patted him on the back. "Let's get started."

Stiles found Chris to be unnaturally friendly, and he wondered if that was just the way he had become now, or just him trying to make Stiles feel at ease. Either way, Stiles decided to ignore it. He was oddly excited about what was to happen. The three pack members took their positions at the stalls, with Stiles on the far right and Allison on the far left, and put on goggles and hearing protection. Both the girls picked up a gun that was on the counter in front of them and widened their stance. Chris chuckled at Lydia's seemingly expert insertion of the clip and confident arming of the weapon.

"I see you've been practicing," he smiled to her. She turned her head in appreciation but remained as she was otherwise. Chris also donned the necessary protecting gear, but raised a hand for the two girls to wait. Stiles noticed that only the two of them had targets hanging across them and that there was nothing hanging across him, while the rest of the wall right of the targets had red dots spray painted on it. He also noticed that Chris had come up behind him.

"Stiles," he said. Stiles turned around.

"The red targets are for you," he explained. "I realize you've chose a… different weapon than the usual kind. You understand that I couldn't give you a normal target because, well you'd burn it down." Mr. Argent appeared very, very calm throughout the whole process. Stiles, on the other hand, produced a nervous chuckle at Chris' every tiny pause.

"Don't worry about setting fire to the place, or the cameras. There's nothing to set fire to down there," he said and nodded towards the end of the room where the targets were, "and the cameras have been turned off. We have a kind of special arrangement with the owner." He smiled an understanding smile and nodded. Stiles wondered if he knew how strange his words sounded. At this, he walked to the back, took a seat and crossed his legs.

"Alright, we've got an hour in here. Let's begin," he announced. Lydia and Allison wasted no time in shooting multiple holes into their targets. The extremely loud gunshots and bright flashes took Stiles by surprise, and for a moment he thought that David would have enjoyed something like this. Allison's shots all went through the centre.

Lydia's on the other hand were spread further out, and were produced at longer intervals. Her first couple didn't even hit the sheet that was hanging, but the other three did. One actually came quite close to home. Her aim might not have been perfect, but her determination and willingness to learn were admirable. She was trying her best.

Both the girls shot five times and turned and looked at Stiles expectantly.

"I—I can't shoot that far!" he quickly explained, too loudly.

"It's okay, Stiles," Mr. Argent reassured him from the back. "Just try."

Stiles sighed impatiently and his shoulders slumped.

Can't even make a fireball to save my life and you expect me to shoot something thirty meters away?

Stiles pictured it happening nonetheless. He remembered that Deaton had once told him it was all in the power of his imagination. He went through the steps and sprawled out his hands. For a second nothing happened, but then the fireball appeared. He thought of the target turning into Marco's face and thrust his hands forward once more. It flew halfway down the aisle and then flickered down to the ground and fizzled out. He looked at the point where his creation had died with a disappointed look. Then he looked at his pack mates to see the expression of pure shock on their faces.

"Well I was wrong in choosing guns!" Lydia exclaimed as a smile broke out over her face. It seemed that it even his failing attempt at a fiery projectile was impressive, and the emotion was shared by Allison.

The next hour breezed by. They spent their time wasting bullets and sheets of targets, while Stiles managed to get a hold of the shooting technique, resulting in a blackened wall. Lydia's aiming was getting much better by the end, whereas Allison simply appeared pleased to be spending time with her friends more than anything else. After the half hour had passed, they took a break during which an employee of the range came in to provide Allison with a dummy target to shoot with her crossbow. He looked at the damaged back wall with an expression of utter shock on his face, and he made sure to go back outside the room as quickly as possible. The three pack mates bonded considerably during training, and Allison's dad didn't let them forget that keeping trusting connections throughout the group was vital in a team.

When they walked outside, it was already raining heavily. Stiles heaved his coat up over his head to protect himself while he raced to his Jeep while trying to keep his somewhat steady footing. Slipping and falling in a puddle of rain was not on the top of his list of priorities. Allison's dad's car was parked out front, and the other three jumped inside quickly. As far as Stiles knew, Chris had driven Lydia to her home and then Allison.

Stiles sat in his Jeep for a few minutes and felt the blood pump in his ears. He had been shooting fireballs for a half hour, successfully at least. He had never in a million years thought that he would be in a position where he'd be able to say something like that to himself, but then again, he never thought he'd be saying werewolves were real.

He pondered for a second where to drive to. He thought about going home, but his dad was at work and he barely had any homework to complete. The decision was obvious, plus he was curious to see what had happened with training back at Derek's. Without thinking, he set course for there and he passed outside Dr. Deaton's office on the way there. As he saw the sign glowing from the distance, he decided it was a good idea to pull over. He quickly went inside and found Deaton looking at him with a little bit of confusion, but not enough to disrupt his everlasting state of calamity.

"Stiles," he exclaimed. "You look like a wet dog."

"Uh, nice to see you too, doctor."

"Well, come in," he said and waved his hand. Stiles followed him around the corner, but instead of taking a right and going into the examination room like the last time, he took a left and led them into his office. There, he took a seat behind his desk and Stiles guessed he was meant to sit on the chair opposite him.

"So," Deaton began. "How are things?"

"Good, good. I've been meaning to thank you again about that little book you gave me, it's come in handy," Stiles said, trying to get the conversation going.

"I hope you don't mean in battle," he said with raised eyebrows as he checked out Stiles' appearance.

"Not yet," Stiles muttered loudly.

"Yes, unfortunately, I've heard what's been going on." Stiles raised his eyebrows at the statement. "Stiles, seven wolves suddenly popping up into town doesn't exactly go unnoticed. You shouldn't be surprised if Marco's pack mates are already aware that you're preparing for war."

Stiles scoffed at that. "War?"

"Yes, Stiles. A lot of people are going to die if nobody decides to take the easy way out," Deaton said. Stiles stared at him and gulped. He knew it was going to end up in a battle, but he had never thought about the tally of deaths, and especially not those of his friends. He fell silent.

"You are doing well in training and gathering allies. You will need every asset you have in this battle. Use every advantage you have."

"See, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," Stiles said, and tried to get his mind off the worrying matter at hand. "I have been using the book, actually I'm getting kind of good at a particular spell."

"Yes, you've been working with fire," Deaton said with a smile.

"I actually just came from a training session, I was shooting fireballs for a whole hour. I think I'm really getting the hang of it and—" Stiles realized something.

"How did you know that I've been using that one?" he asked Deaton.

"Derek has been informing me about your progress," he simply stated. And with a smile, he added, "incessantly, actually."

Stiles' eyes fell to the ground for a second as he thought about Derek and then back into Deaton's.

"It's okay if you want to go see him now; I actually have some things to do." Stiles grinned and nodded. He thanked Deaton and jumped out of his seat. Within five seconds he was back in his car and struggling to turn the engine on. If the drive from Deaton's office to Derek's house was a five-minute one, Stiles made it in two. He parked his car wherever he found some space amongst the plethora of vehicles that had gathered since yesterday outside the building, slammed the Jeep door behind him and ran to the porch to find some shelter from the pouring rain.

The same time he knocked on the door, it was pulled open. One of the wolves had obviously heard him arriving. Maria's perky, smiling face was waiting on the other side.

"Welcome, sunshine!" she laughed and pulled him in. Maria was like a mother to them all, and that was really saying something, considering there were ten people now living in that house, herself included. Stiles had never seen this place so full of life and peppiness. Andrew and his mother never stopped sharing their smiles with the world, David always played his pranks, Michael kept having interesting conversations with Derek and Peter on deciding on a course of action without necessarily imposing a gloomy feeling of foreboding upon them, while Emma and Zachary taught the rest of the Hale pack multiple new techniques. It seemed like everyone was happy with this new situation, even Jackson, like they didn't care if it meant that they were preparing for war, in Deaton's words.

"Did the rain start before you finished training?" Stiles asked in a friendly manner. Zachary was sitting with Scott, Jackson and Isaac around the coffee table. Emma was showing Erica a maneuver in front of the stairs and Andrew and David were standing around, making jokes. Derek, Michael and Peter were out of sight.

"Don't you worry about that dear, why don't you let me make you something warm to drink?" she offered with a smile so wide Stiles felt like he didn't even need anything to drink to feel warm again.

"It's alright, I can get that," Stiles said and walked into the kitchen. Around the table were the three missing wolves. They all looked up and greeted him, and each one's greeting hid a different emotion behind it.

"Hello, Stiles," Peter pleasantly greeted him.

"Hey," Michael said, and nodded at him with a smirk.

"Hi," Derek said and gave a grin so wide it almost reached each ear. His perfectly white teeth blinded Stiles and his eyes lit up with a different spark when they met Stiles'. He remained smiling even after he wasn't technically looking at Stiles anymore. "How was training?" he asked.

"It was good actually, I think I'm getting a lot better. Lydia too, Allison's dad is a really good teacher," Stiles added as he turned his back to the brains of the pack and faced the counter, trying to make himself a decent cup of tea.

"I don't really understand," Michael started, " how it is that you have such a close relation with a family of werewolf hunters? One so close that you even have a member of that family in your own pack, even."

"It's complicated," began Stiles. "Basically, Scott started dating Allison when he didn't know she was a hunter's daughter. Before he even knew that he was a werewolf, really. Then, she refused to follow her dad's 'line of work', and stuck with us. But they've agreed to not hurt the wolves as long as they don't hurt humans." Stiles guessed he had done a pretty good job at giving the simplified version.

"Yeah, I wouldn't be so confident about that 'not hurt' part," said Erica as she barged in. Stiles gave her a displeased look as the kettle whistled. He poured some of the hot water into a mug and added the bag of tea leaves and a spoon of sugar.

"You know, in the end we might actually have to turn to them for help," Stiles muttered. Erica looked sour.

"He's right," Michael announced. "Even after we arrived, we're still outnumbered. They're seventeen, and we're sixteen. That might not seem like much to you, but on the field, it counts. They also have experience on their side, our only chance is dealing a strong surprise blow to kick things off and next forming a plan that takes advantage of each member's strengths and weaknesses. That's what we've actually been doing since yesterday, and it looks like the attack will have to be done on Sunday."

Stiles was about to take a sip but he froze.

"Sunday? As in, four days from today?" he asked in concealed horror.

"Yes." Stiles gave a sigh and put a hand on Derek's shoulder and squeezed. Derek rolled his shoulders at the massaging pattern and they cracked shamelessly.

Emma then walked into the room and went to the fridge. She gave a frown after she opened its door.

"This thing is almost empty," she stated.

"Yeah, I know," groaned Derek. "It's been like that since this morning."

"Wanna go to the grocery store? I'll come with you," said Stiles with raised eyebrows. Derek turned his head slowly and looked at him through the corner of his eye. He gave a microscopic half-smirk and slowly replied.

"Sure…" Derek got up and left the kitchen, and Stiles followed like a little child, leaving his full cup of coffee on the countertop.

"Hey, Stiles, can I have your coffee?" Erica called after him.

"Yeah, whatever!" he half-giggled, half-yelled through the now closed kitchen door. Peter gave a small laugh and shook his head.

When they'd walked outside, Derek stopped on the porch.

"Damn it, my car is blocked again," he exclaimed as he observed the way the others had parked the cars carelessly around his.

"It's fine, I've got my car here," Stiles said and skipped off to the back where they located the Jeep and got in. Stiles made a clumsy backward U-turn, and drove off on the rough nature trail. Soon, they found the asphalt and the ride was as smooth as it was possible to be due to the condition Stiles' old car was in, and also due to the fact that Derek seemed intent on distracting him from driving by kissing and nibbling at his sensitive neck, getting him to giggle like a schoolgirl.

Stiles sped up when Derek put a hand around his chest and started pulling him closer.

"Derek, I'm driving—" he said as quickly as he could between fits of giggles and Derek's pecking. A car coming from the opposite direction flashed its headlights as the driver noticed what was going on inside the Jeep. Derek had already torn off the two top buttons of his plaid shirt and simply threw them over his shoulder. With his hand he pulled the collar of Stiles' sweatshirt down and laid more kisses along his collarbone, drawing gasps as well as uncontrollable laughter.

His other hand moved down to Stiles thigh, where his jeans were starting to feel all too tight. Derek's hand moved up and down until he found Stiles' erection straining against the fabric and concentrated its rubbing there. Stiles eventually saw his house appearing around the corner and took the turn very badly. He crookedly shoved the car into the garage and jumped out, barely taking the time to notice that his father's car wasn't there. Derek almost lunged over the front of the car to get to Stiles. He grabbed the boy in his arms and looked into his eyes. They were swimming in lust and wonder as their bodies ground up against each other and his lips were quivering in desire of meeting Derek's once again.

The wolf complied and slammed his lips against Stiles', who took a few steps backwards from the force, and forced his mind to focus just a little bit on direction, so that they could get on the other side of the door before they humped each other's brains out. They sloppily succeeded and Stiles tore himself away enough to thrust the key into the keyhole and frantically twist it round, all the while feeling Derek's claws going up and down his body, threatening at all times to liberate him of his clothes. After a few agonizing seconds, he managed to unlock it and barge it while throwing the keys on the floor. Derek slammed the door behind him and hungrily watched Stiles take his top off.

He gave a wild growl and grabbed the half-naked teenager his arms. He barely managed to control his claws, but his red eyes were on full display. He moaned as Stiles held him by the hair and wrapped his legs around his waist. The pain mixed with the pleasure into an intoxicative concoction that almost sent him over the edge and made him shift right there and then. Derek cupped Stiles' ass to support him and grabbed a good handful. Stiles smiled sneakily and slid his hands up under Derek's shirt, feeling his hard, rippling abs, moving up to his refined chest and perky nipples. At this, Derek took a few, long strides to the nearest couch and set Stiles down long enough to rip his shirt to shreds and unbutton his jeans.

He proceeded to climb on top of Stiles, and ground his body against his lover's, taking extra time with their crotches. His jeans were slowly sliding off and he struggled with the button on Stiles'. Eventually he gave up and ripped it off with his claws. Stiles brought up his feet to Derek's waist and put his big toes inside either side of the waistband of his boxers, pushing them and the jeans off. Derek laid a massive, sloppy kiss on his neck that left him shivering. Immediately, Stiles flipped him over and they both landed on the pillows that had been strewn about as they had been struggling with their clothes on the couch. Stiles was on top now and he moved down Derek's body. He pulled his jeans and briefs completely off for him and grabbed him by the waist. Derek's cock was already rock hard, and Stiles' face was inches from it. Derek shut his eyes hard as he prepared for what was about to come, when Stiles started going down on him.

In a voice that reeked of sex Derek called out Stiles' name between the grunts and the growls. The blowjob was amazing even compared to somebody with a lot of experience. Stiles really put his tongue into it as he slid up and down Derek's hard dick and covered it in his spit. His mouth felt full at all times, and he quickly tasted the precum that was leaking into his mouth. Derek's hips thrust up and down in response to his mouth's movements. Stiles was eager to give him the best blowjob he could, and Derek was eager to help in any way he could. Stiles slowly moved down to Derek's balls, and took a good couple of minutes playing with them, sucking and licking. After there, taking Derek by surprise, he went down to his asshole.

He licked and lapped vigorously, and Derek wondered for a minute if Stiles was planning on fucking him. If was going to be honest with himself, by that point, he would actually quite enjoy that, however unexpected it might have been, but it wasn't the case. After Stiles decided Derek was loose enough, he slipped a finger inside his asshole, making his toes curl. As he slid it in and out, he went back to servicing Derek who had put both hands on his head, holding his temples, as if it were enough to keep him from going crazy. He was being blown and fingered by Stiles, and the thought of that was enough to send him over the edge.

Surprisingly, Stiles had more tricks up his sleeve. Without warning, he took Derek's entire length into his mouth, and moved his finger inward and up, finding his prostate. Derek howled as every single nerve throughout his entire body was set on fire while Stiles kept tracing circles around his G-spot, and flicking his tongue while he kept Derek fully inside his mouth. It only took a few seconds for him to slam his claws down and grab tight hold of whatever they managed to grab as he came inside Stiles' mouth. Pillows were ripped to shreds, Derek's back arched massively as he tried to thrust his cock as in as it would go and he continued to produce animalistic sounds. The claws and fangs were all out now as he wasn't capable of thinking about anything in his moment of pure ecstasy, especially about keeping his wolf hidden.

After he had spent a moment calming down, he looked at Stiles only to see him fully naked, sporting a massive erection himself, kneeling between Derek's legs and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while he smiled cheekily. Derek's cheeks were red as fire and his breathing was still heavy.

"You're a bastard," Derek gasped. Stiles chuckled and stretched his body across Derek's, giving him a passionate kiss, full of everything that Stiles had just tasted. However, even after probably the most amazing orgasm he'd ever had, Derek was still hard.

"My turn," he said, and he made Stiles bend over the seat of the couch. He spent no time messing around, Derek went straight for Stile's asshole and hungrily went down on it. Stiles moaned and squirmed underneath his hold as he felt the tongue dart in and out of him. He also felt Derek's hands move away from his waist, and out of the corner of his eye he saw some of the clothes on the floor moving around. Derek had been looking for his wallet in his jeans, where he kept a condom. Quickly he located it, ripped the package open and slipped it on his cock. He arched his body into Stiles' arched back, and put his mouth next to his ear.

Just like last time, he asked, "Ready?"

This time, Stiles replied, "Are you?"

At that, Derek was inside Stiles. His breath left him and he whined and groaned at the feeling of being fucked silly by his wolf, and slammed his hands into the head of the couch. As Derek worked his way in and out like a piston, he laid his hands on top of Stiles', and the claws were fully visible. He had shifted fully, but not into his Alpha form. Derek growled and occasionally gave loud yelps of satisfaction as he worked his way toward a second orgasm. Stiles like he was being fucked ten times harder than last time, and he loved it all. Derek's sweaty body was sloppy against his back and suddenly there was a hand on his cock. Derek was jerking him off, and Stiles was seeing lights.

He laid his forehead between his hands as Derek started fucking him even harder and faster. Stiles was screaming out in pleasure, he had never felt this good before, and Derek took the time every few seconds to lick his hand before he proceeded to continue squeezing and tugging at Stiles' erection, practically trying to draw the cum out. He called out Derek's name and the wolf howled in response. His dick had started hitting that magic spot again, deep inside Stiles' ass. He felt the cum building up very quickly, and it wasn't very long before he started calling out.

"Uh, fuck, Derek, I'm gonna cum!" he said and clenched his fingers around Derek's forearm as he continued to jerk him off. Derek's response was to make the handjob go even faster. Stiles closed his eyes tight as he felt his sanity leave him while he came and got wildly fucked at the same time. The drops of cum were spread out all over the leather couch and Derek was slowing down since he felt the clenching in Stiles' ass. He actually matched his pace with Stiles' clenches, thrusting in every time another spurt of cum left his body.

Soon enough, Derek sped back up. He removed his hand from Stiles' dick who was still fighting for breath. He suddenly felt Derek's cock swell and pulsate as he came. The noises Derek made were definitely not human. His howls this time reverberated throughout Stiles' body, and he felt the warmth of Derek's ejaculation contained in the condom in his ass. Derek went back to his human form and collapsed on top of Stiles. They both laid there on the couch for a few minutes.

"You're getting really good at this," Derek growled.


	10. Deadly Disguise

Stiles was relieved to hear the last bell of the day. So much so, that he weightily sighed, dumped everything into his bag and got up and left the classroom while dragging his feet. He hovered through the hallway towards the exit like a shadow along with the general flow of the other students, though they were all choosing a more rushed manner to move out of the premises. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, a voice called his name.

"Stiles! Wait up!"

Stiles turned around lazily with an eyebrow half-raised. He saw Scott with a huge smile splitting his face in two hurrying towards him. When he reached his friend, the happy expression was replaced with a confused one.

"Stiles, you look like hell, what's wrong?" he asked, genuinely concerned as they strolled along to the parking lot, side by side.

"Ah, nothing," Stiles dismissed. "Just didn't get much sleep, I'm having kind of bad day. Nothing serious." Scott noticed he wasn't his usual energy-and-wit-filled self.

"Are you sure? 'Cause you look like it's kind of more than just that," Scott pressed on.

"Don't worry, man," Stiles said, relaxed. They'd reached Stiles' Jeep, and they both got into their seats.

"You know, you're usually ecstatic when your birthday's coming up. You haven't even mentioned it to anyone," Scott said.

"Yeah, well the day we might all die is also coming up, which kind of overshadows birthdays in my books," Stiles countered in a grim, but not aggressive way as he started the engine.

"Stiles, come one, don't think like that. Since it's this Saturday, why don't we all go out and celebrate?" Scott kept saying while Stiles began driving away from school.

"And run for our lives the next?"

"I thought the fight was on Monday," Scott said.

"No, Michael and Derek and Peter decided on a surprise attack on Sunday. When it'd be unexpected," Stiles explained.

"Are you sure? 'Cause that sounds like a bad plan, it's giving us less time to prepare."

"Of course I'm sure, and besides, a single day's training wouldn't help that much," Stiles said. "And you were there when they said it!" he exclaimed as he remembered.

"Oh, right the emergency meeting last night…"

"Yeah," Stiles said, exaggerating his nod. He set course for his home.

"Hey, where was Allison last night?" Scott asked after a little while.

"I don't know, I guessed she'd told you."

"Why would she tell me?"

"Because she's closest to you."

"No, she didn't tell me anything."

Stiles frowned at that. Allison never missed pack meetings. They rode in silence for a few minutes, while Stiles tried to figure out if anything was up with Allison or if he was just making it all up in his head, and Scott was trying to figure out how to change the subject.

"So, dinner, Saturday night?" he suddenly said.

"Scott, come on, I'd feel really awkward if everyone was forced to go out and pretend to not have a care in the world for my sake, only to throw themselves into a huge battle the next day." Stiles pulled into his place's garage and pulled up the handbrake, but he put both hands back on the steering wheel which he gripped tightly and spoke without turning to look at Scott.

"You could die on Sunday, Scott," he said, with tears threatening to appear in his eyes. Scott simply looked at his friend, and hoped that when Stiles had finished talking, he'd have mustered up a response to what was looking like was going to be an emotional speech. "I could die, Derek could die… Damn it, the whole pack might just get slaughtered right there in those fucking mines, and nobody will even find our bodies." Stiles calmed himself down by closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths.

"What we need the night before is not a party. It's just a good night's sleep, and that's all," he said, this time actually looking at Scott. He replied with a simple 'Fine', because, really, how the hell do you respond when people start talking like that? They walked up the steps and into the kitchen. Stiles offered food and drink, but Scott refused for the time being. When they walked into the living room, Scott froze.

"Whoa! What the hell happened in here?" Scott said, loudly, while pressing a hand to his abdomen and gripping the door frame with the other. His face was covered in mischief. Stiles' was blank as he turned and looked at his friend.

"What?" he said quietly.

"It smells like an orgy in here!" Scott said even louder, and Stiles' eyes widened in panic.

"Scott, keep it down!"

"What the hell did you do?"

"Scott, come on, don't—"

"It smells like jizz, and sweat and—" Scott was beaming as he looked to Stiles with sudden realization. "And Derek's sweat!"

Stiles closed his eyes and waited for it to stop.

"Oh my God, you had sex with Derek in here! How the hell did that even happen, I thought you guys had only been together for, like, less than a week!"

Scott laughed like a little child with his discovery and took very, very careful steps on his tip toes through the living room to the staircase, as if he would have accidentally walked into a puddle of sperm. Stiles slapped his friend on the back of the head for milking this embarrassing moment so much. They made their way up and into Stiles' bedroom, where Stiles sat on his desk chair and Scott on the bed.

"Are these clean, or should I sit somewhere else?" Scott asked, holding up the bed covers.

"Oh, shut up," Stiles replied.

"Why the hell are you shy now? You've been talking all about how you wanted to have your first time!"

"Well, yeah, but this was different, you know? It was more like making love than just sex." Stiles' rosy cheeks darkened tenfold when he'd heard what he'd just said. They were about to turn purple and burst. Scott just laughed his ass off for a good ten minutes while Stiles sat there, watching. Eventually, he got tired of being made fun of.

"I wouldn't be acting so high and might if I were you, mister 'Three minutes'", Stiles called over Scott's howling laughter. Immediately he sat up with a horrified expression. Stiles had the upper hand now, as well as a smug face.

"Oh, yeah. Allison told me about the time that lasted three minutes," he continued. Scott remained aghast.

"What? When? Why—Why would she do that, why?" Stiles took a defensive pose.

"Word travels fast in this town," he simply said. Suddenly, the bell rang and Scott looked confused once more.

"Huh," he exclaimed. "I didn't hear a car pulling up," he said.

"Yeah, 'cause you were laughing your ass off. It's probably my dad, locked himself out and all that."

Stiles got up and left the room, and walked slowly down the steps. He had reached the door when Scott appeared at the landing and called, "Stiles, don't—" But he'd already turned the doorknob.

Marco was standing at Stiles' front door.

"Hello, boys, I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said with a fatherly smile upon his face. Stiles took a few steps back and froze to the spot. He and Scott both were staring and the wolf wide-eyed. Marco took a step over the threshold. His eyes narrowed as the scent hit his nostrils.

"My, my… Could I be smelling a love affair?" he said deviously with his hands crossed behind his back at all times. Marco reminded Stiles too much of Peter, when he was still out to kill them all. His leather jacket was zipped up tight, and so were his jeans around his bulging thighs. He was a good runner, a good predator.

"Or—" he began again, and cocked his head while frowning. "Ah," he exclaimed as the truth dawned. "A Mr. Derek Hale was here recently, no?" he said as he took a couple more steps forward. Stiles stared at him with disgust.

"Now, now," Marco consoled, "no need to pout. I'm just here to have a little chat." Scott growled.

"You see, it's come to my attention that you might have been trying to gather reinforcements to aid you in the upcoming events of Monday's battle. It's also come to my attention that you're pathetically failing to camouflage any single choice you're making, which incidentally makes my job very easy."

Marco's smile suddenly turned into a snarl.

"But, the fact still remains that your numbers have very much grown since I last paid you a visit. And we can't have that, can we?" he said, and his arms swung loosely to his sides. The claws were out.

Stiles immediately scrambled backwards and he heard a growling from above him, as Scott jumped over the railing and landed between Stiles and Marco. He slowly stood up straight, breathing heavily in his fully transformed Beta form. Marco narrowed his eyes at him.

"You really think you're enough to stop me, little boy?" he said. Scott simply stared quietly, and Marco scoffed. In a few long strides he had reached Scott, and swung an arm at him. Scott ducked as the claws whizzed by, but the other hand met his rids with fist before he could stand back up. Scott grunted, but recovered quickly. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and propelled himself forward, taking himself and Marco down, hard. As they struggled and rolled and growled, Stiles found the opportunity he'd been looking for.

He practically jumped over the railing and ran up the stairs, and into his bedroom. There, he opened the first drawer in his bedside table and fished out the flower of wolfsbane. Keeping some of the stuff in the case of an emergency was the third of the ten main rules in Deaton's handy little book. As he ran back out, he froze as he looked over the landing and into the living room. Marco had Scott pinned to the wall by the neck, and Scott's feet weren't even touching the ground. His face was read and he made gurgling sounds.

When Stiles' brain restarted, he produced a small flame in his hand, and lit the tip of the flower. He blew the flame out as soon as it was created, and it smoked heavily. Stiles aimed roughly and threw the thing and Marco, fully aware that it would be affecting his friend as well.

Suddenly, Marco coughed in Scott's face and dropped him to the ground. It was like he'd been punched in the stomach: wolfsbane on its own or wolfsbane dust was enough to disorientate a wolf, or even knock him out, but the vapors the plant could produce were torturous.

He whipped around and immediately located Stiles. He looked at him dead in the eyes which were full of horror, while Marco's were blazing green and bewildered. He looked sweaty as the smoke quickly affected him. He staggered through the living room, leaving Scott writhing weakly on the ground, and made his way to the stairs. The smoke was slightly starting to burn Stiles' eyes, and they watered, but mostly that was due to the fact that he was staring his death in the eye, and it was slowly approaching.

Marco grunted as he hauled himself halfway up the steps. Stiles backed up to the wall and stared horrified. Then, he remembered.

I can shoot.

Stiles began to conjure up a fireball, but the adrenaline pulsing through his veins took over as soon as the spell was initiated. His hands moved as if they had a life of their own, the gestures completed themselves, and the fireball produced was larger than a baseball. If his life weren't in immediate danger, he'd take the time to marvel and boast in his creation. But the only time he had the time to do, now, was shoot.

Marco was about to come up the final step when Stiles threw the ball of fire and hit him square in the middle of his chest. A loud explosion rocked the house to its foundations, and he flew backwards through the air. He landed with a loud crack back inside the living room. Barely waiting to regain whatever part of his vision he'd lost in the flash, Stiles rushed down the stairs, grabbed Scott by the armpits and dragged him outside. He left him unconscious on the pavement, and began to carefully trod back inside the house.

He found that the flower had been totally burned, and the smoke now filled the room. Marco was lying flat on the ground with his head tilted awkwardly. Stiles recognized that his neck had been broken in the landing.

Marco was dead.

Once he was sure there wasn't any threat, he ran into the kitchen, got a glass of water and ran outside. He kneeled beside Scott, and called his name.

"Scott! Scott, wake up!" he yelled, but there was no response. Stiles knew it wasn't the best option, but he poured some of the water of Scott's face, whose head immediately jerked and his eyelids were shut tight in pain. He grunted and groaned as he writhed around while his injuries began having their effect.

"Scott, come on, we're going to Deaton's," he said. He threw the glass in the bushes, and it probably shattered. Stiles didn't care, he was just intent on saving his friend right now. Grabbing him by the underarms once more, he dragged him to the Jeep. It was not a discreet process.

Scott screamed in pain and begged for Stiles to stop, who in turn looked at his friend in pity and desperation. After a few minutes of begging, he managed to get Scott to use his feet and help Stiles get him to lie across the back seat. Stiles quickly got in the driver's seat and immediately set course for the vet's clinic.

If there were any policemen around, they'd have revoked his license ten times by the time he'd reached his goal, but thankfully there was nobody to tell him to slow down. Stiles threw himself through the clinic's front door and found Deaton looking at him, confused.

"Scott is hurt," Stiles simply explained. Deaton rushed out from behind the reception desk, and went to the Jeep with Stiles. The helped the groaning Scott inside and into the examination room. The pained screams were much quieter now; Scott was nearly passed out once again. They laid him flat on the examination table.

"What happened to him?" Deaton asked as he quickly went from cabinet to cabinet, picking out different syringes, already loaded with something in them. He emptied them both into the side of Scott's arm.

"Painkiller," Deaton explained, and produced a pair of shears. He ripped off Scott's t-shirt, and there was an irregularity in the pattern his ribs made under his flesh.

"He has two broken ribs," Deaton said confused, "but with his advanced healing, that should be fixing itself right now. Did something else happen? Why is he in so much pain?"

Stiles swallowed. "It's wolfsbane."

Deaton's eyebrows jerked upward for an instant, but he was at it once again. He opened the false bottom of the drawer he'd opened when he'd given Stiles his book, and brought out a tray of small bottles of different powders. He picked out a green one and poured a tiny amount onto a Petri dish. He pulled a lighter out of his breast pocket, and set fire to the dust. It fizzed to life and smoked wildly for a couple of seconds, before it died back down.

After it was done burning, the veterinarian emptied the charred remains into the sink and rinsed them away, as well as the surface of the dish which he left in there to soak. He turned back to face the teenagers with his hands in his pockets. He didn't say a word.

"Well?" Stiles asked, waiting for a response.

"Well, I hope that the wolfsbane hasn't done any damage, and that what I did should be enough. Now we just wait for him to wake up, basically," Deaton explained coolly. Stiles was not prepared to deal with his relaxed ways, so he removed himself from the room, and produced his cell phone from his pocket. He pressed speed dial. Derek answered in the first couple of rings.

"Hey, Stiles," he said, the smile in his voice audible.

"Derek, meet me back at my house," Stiles said urgently.

"What's wrong?" Derek asked, immediately concerned.

"I'll explain there, hurry."

Stiles could here shuffling around before the line was gone. He got in his own car and made his way back to his house.

Shit, that was a stupid move. I saved my life with that wolfsbane, but I might have killed Scott—

Stiles slammed on the brakes as he absentmindedly almost ran a red light, but stopped just in time to avoid a car crash.

Shit, he repeated.

He decided that there was no use in worrying before he assessed the situation. Scott was in Deaton's hands, and that was the best that could be offered to him right now. Arriving at his house, he saw that Derek's Camaro was already parked outside, but the engine was still on. He'd just arrived, too. They both got out at the same time. Derek slammed the car door behind him and ran to Stiles and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Stiles, what happened? Are you okay?"

"Don't worry, I'm fine. Actually, I'm the only one who is fine after all this," he said.

"Why? Who's hurt?"

"Scott. I took him to Deaton's; I just got back from there. He said there was nothing to do except wait for him to wake up."

Derek sniffed the air, and he caught a whiff of the burned herb.

"Stiles, what did you do here?"

"I had to do something, Marco was attacking us."

"Marco!" Derek exclaimed loudly. The rage flowed through him at the sound of that name and the idea of anything or anyone threatening Stiles. His eyes flashed red and the claws were out in a second.

"Derek, it's done, he's dead."

Derek looked bewildered.

"What?"

"He's in my living room if you wanna check," Stiles explained.

Derek looked Stiles up and down, and then slowly walked inside. The front door was still wide open. The smoke had escaped through any opening by this point, but the scent lingered. When Derek spotted Marco's body, he closed the door, because leaning over a dead body was not something Derek was willing to be seen doing. As he examined it, he found a string tightly spiraled around his left wrist.

"It's a fake," he announced.

"What—" Stiles started to say, but Derek had cut through the string. The disguise immediately faded away, and the man's real face was revealed, but the big, deadly-looking burn on his chest remained. Derek stood back up.

"Did you do that?" he said, and nodded down at the scorch mark.

"Yeah," Stiles added. "He fell off the stairs and broke his neck."

Derek turned to Stiles with a sly, half-smile.

"That's impressive," he complimented.

"Is that why you're smiling?" Stiles asked, copying the expression.

"Kind of. Also because Marco sent a fake in his place to deal with a human and a teenage Beta," Derek explained.

"So?"

"So, he's scared of us." Derek draped the dead body over his shoulder and took it outside, where he made sure none of the neighbors were looking when he dumped it into the hood of his car. Stiles followed the Camaro in his Jeep, until they passed Deaton's clinic, where Stiles pulled over, but Derek went on. He had a body to get rid of.

When Stiles walked back in, he found that the reception was empty, so he let himself into the examination room. There, he found Deaton and Ms. Morrell standing over Scott, who was propped up on his elbows. They both looked at him, but he ignored their stares.

"Scott, are you okay?" Stiles asked and he walked around the table to stand between the two others and face Scott. His eyes were half-open, and he was pale, but he was awake.

"Stiles?"

"Hey, buddy," he smiled, grabbed his leg and gave a friendly squeeze.

"What happened?"

"You were affected by some burning wolfsbane," Deaton explained. "But it seems to be wearing off now. You're going to be fine; all you need is a little rest."

Scott needed no further encouragement. He let himself fall flat once again, and Stiles was relieved to see that he hadn't caused any permanent damage to his friend.

Morrell walked to the door, and turned around.

"Stiles, could I speak to you in private, please?" she asked softly. Stiles complied, because staring over Scott was not the most entertaining thing he had to do, now that he was fine. He followed her until she stopped at the front desk and turned around to face him.

"Stiles, what happened?" she asked just as softly, as if everything was falling into place.

"Well, we got attacked and I stopped the bad guy," Stiles simply announced. Morrell looked at him for a few seconds and then smiled a condescending smile.

"With a little more detail, if that's possible?" she requested.

"Look, we were at my place and this guy shows up looking like Marco—I assume you know who that is?" She nodded, and Stiles continued, no longer affected by the speed by which gossip travelled. "Scott and I were at my place, and I don't know; he followed us or he somehow knew where we were, and he knocked on the door. When I opened he was standing there, but before he could kill me Scott got in the way. While they were busy killing each other, I ran upstairs and got a little bit of wolfsbane, 'cause that little magic book Dr. Deaton gave me said to always have some near you.

"Anyway, it lit it up and threw it at them, and obviously it affected both. I was still on the first floor when the place started filling with smoke, but 'Marco' still tried to crawl up the stairs and kill me. So I shot him," Stiles recalled. Morrell nodded like she agreed. "After that, I just grabbed Scott and got the hell out of there. I brought him here and went back to my house; we checked things out with Derek: turns out, it was a disguise, probably just one of Marco's lackeys."

"Oh, it most definitely was one of Marco's Betas. And it's a good sign that he was scared of us enough to try and do some preliminary damage like that." Morrell crossed her arms and scrunched up her eyebrows while she considered something.

"Did you see the man's real face?" she asked.

"Yeah, Derek pulled of the string and the disguise fell apart immediately, why?"

"Was it someone you recognized?"

"Uh… No, I don't think so. I didn't even get that good a look at him, to be honest."

"If Marco has Betas that know us, where we live and where we go, that could be dangerous. If the situation wasn't so delicate right now, it'd be a good idea to send in a spy of our own."

Stiles suddenly froze, completely ignoring what Morrell had just said.

"My dad," he said urgently.

"What?"

"My dad is in danger," Stiles announced. "Marco knows where my house is, he knows that I live there with my dad. What if he sends another one and my dad opens the door?" Stiles wondered, his breathing picking up the pace.

"Stiles, that is not going to happen. He knows when you're home, and where you are when you're out. As unnerving as that may be, he's going to send Betas after you if he even decides to attack you. Not your dad."

"But that's what bad guys do, they go after the people you love."

"If I were you, I'd be worrying a lot more about myself right now," she said.

"What? Why?" he asked in confusion.

"You said it yourself. If Marco wants Derek and his pack out of here, he'd use the person he loves to force him out. That's you," she explained. Stiles hadn't thought about it that way before, and she was unfortunately right. Stiles gulped.

"Oh," he said.

A weary Scott walked into the room slowly, clutching the wall for support. Deaton came behind him at the same speed, waiting to catch Scott in case he threatened to fall over, who bore a pained smile.

Out of nowhere, a car pulled up in a rushed manner outside the veterinarian's clinic, and Allison jumped out of the driver's seat. She barged through the door and grabbed Scott tight in her arms, ignoring his grunts of pain.

"Oh my God, Scott, I was so scared when Derek told me you were hurt and you weren't waking up, I thought I'd lost you too Scott, I can't believe it this almost happened all over again, I don't even want to know what happened—"

"Allison!" Scott finally interrupted her incessant rambling. He hugged her back, weakly.

"I love you," she cried. Her back was turned to the entire room and its occupants, but Scott's face was in full view. And the expression of pure surprise was priceless.

"I love you, too," he chuckled quietly, and buried his face in her neck. He stole a quick glance at his buddy, who nodded. Stiles felt very proud of himself in that moment. He had saved his best friends life, and thus aided in the rekindling of an almost lost love. He left the room, and got into his Jeep. There was nothing much he could do here now, Scott was up and walking, and Allison was going to take care of him. As he drove to Derek's house, rain started falling again.

By the time he parked outside the Hale house, it was raining cats and dogs. Stiles ran inside to find everyone but Scott, Allison and Derek present. Even Lydia and Jackson were there, and they were usually too high and mighty to be spending any time in this place unless they were absolutely required to.

As soon as he walked in, everyone was bombarding him with questions, and this reminded him only a little bit too much of when he'd gotten up the first time after his stomach got torn open. He calmly explained to everyone what had happened, but couldn't help but providing some sarcastic answers to the follow-up questions that seemed silliest to him, especially to those posed by Jackson. After all, he was still Stiles.

It took about ten to fifteen minutes to get everyone to relax and back into whatever they were doing before, when Stiles started making his way towards the kitchen but his attention was caught by the door flying open and Derek walking in, looking like hell. He slowly walked to Stiles, dripping with rain and cupped his cute face in his rough hands before he laid a slow and soft kiss on him with cold, trembling lips.

"I got really scared, today," Derek offered.

"You shouldn't have, I'm a badass," Stiles replied.

"No, I'm serious. You could have died."

"Derek, we might all die in three days."

"I know," he said in a low, deep voice, their faces still very close together. Derek had moved his hands to Stiles' shoulders, and Stiles was holding Derek by his wrists. "I just didn't expect something to happen so soon. I guess Scott's lucky you're a badass."

Stiles smiled at the unexpected joke, and laid another peck on Derek. He could see pain in his eyes, and he knew Derek was trying really hard to ask him to sit the battle out. But Stiles was determined on fighting just as much as anybody else in the pack did, and once Stiles' mind was set on something, there was no convincing him otherwise. Derek knew that already.

"I'm scared too, by the way," Stiles said. "About my dad. I don't want him to get hurt. I'm all the family he's got, you know. If—"

"No," Derek interrupted. "No 'if's. Nothing will happen."

Stiles gave a sad smile, because he knew that Derek couldn't promise that. He wanted more than anything to be able to ensure Stiles' safety, but there was no way to do that.

"Don't die for me, by the way," Stiles say in a matter-of-fact tone. "Not in my place. I wouldn't be able to take something like that."

Derek shook his head. "I'm gonna have to disappoint you."

Stiles took a moment to examine Derek. Here he was, looking at Derek Hale and seeing the most beautiful, caring creature that he'd ever seen, and feeling all kinds of emotions for him. A week ago, everything he felt about Derek ranged from anger to spite to loathing. Now, everything was upside down. He'd fallen in love with the sour wolf in a day, and he was offering his life for him, in the name of their unconditional love. Things had changed, very quickly, and for a moment Stiles wanted to stop and get off this crazy ride. But at the same time, being with Derek made everything worth it.


	11. Kidnapping

"No!" yelled Stiles. "Don't you dare! You swore you wouldn't tell that story!" he tried to say through his laughing fits and desperate breathing. Scott was red from laughter too, mostly in hysterics over the memory, but partly over Stiles' reaction.

All fifteen members of the Hale pack were sat around the coffee table, on the couches. Many of the members were sitting on top of each other; even the pulled-up chairs were not enough to accommodate them all. Stiles, naturally, was resting on top of Derek's lap, next to Peter, and Isaac was sitting on the other side of the sofa. Right next to Stiles, on the second one, was Emma, then Maria, then Erica. And on the third couch, opposite the first were Jackson, providing a seat for Lydia, and Scott with Allison, the two couples separated by Michael. Three chairs were pulled up around the furniture that was almost groaning under the strain of the weight, for Andrew Zachary and David.

They'd been spending their Thursday night telling old stories and sharing memories from their old packs. It was kind of like a makeshift debate around a campfire, only indoors and without the fire.

"But it's so good!" Scott managed to say.

"No!" Stiles chuckled as he calmed down. The rest protested against being kept away from the light of such an amusing tale, but eventually they stopped. Stiles' face was red, and the wolves could tell by his elevated heart rate that it wasn't as funny for Stiles as it was embarrassing. Allison, while resting on top of Scott, leaned down and tried to coax him into whispering it into her ear, but he declined. They had been inseparable after confessing their not-so-well hidden love that lingered on, even after their braking up.

"Alright, alright, I got one," announced Andrew. He started talking and rubbing his beard as he did so, like a well-aged man preaching to a bunch of kids wanting to know what his years had taught him. He had a way of talking that enchanted everyone, had them all hooked and waiting for his next word. All the while, he stole mischievous glances at his mother, indicating that she was a part of the story, even if Andrew didn't mention her. After all, it wasn't a description of a particularly legal act that he had been giving. She had probably instructed him not to give such an unflattering presentation of her to their new friends.

Slowly, one by one, cell phones started ringing, parents started calling, and people were going home for the night. It was almost midnight before Stiles had to take off. He said goodbye to everyone.

"See you tomorrow," he said to Derek and left, being the last of the teenagers to go. But, before he even properly turned around, Derek had grabbed him by the arm and whipped him around.

"What, no kiss?" he said in a baby-ish pout. Stiles liked the how Derek had become more open now, happier and more eager to show his emotions. Now that the house was full again, now that the ill-fitting jigsaw pieces were shifting and fitting together, it was like the hole that had been left in him was almost filled up. There was a part that would be forever empty, but there was a significant difference in his psychology. He had a family once more, and he was doing his best to protect it.

Stiles laid a quick peck on Derek's lips with a smile, and tried to walk to the door. Again, Derek turned him around and gave him a more passionate kiss, one that Stiles found enough to replace the thoughts of his dad being annoyed at his son for being late and having to explain it somehow. Stiles' eyes fluttered and he saw a pained expression on Derek's face, so he broke the kiss.

"What's wrong?" Stiles asked, concerned. Derek didn't bother changing his face to his usual, hard expression.

"Nothing, it's just… Nothing," he mumbled while keeping his gaze at Stiles' chest.

"Derek," Stiles called and cupped his chin with a hand, drawing his face up until their eyes met. Stiles was surprised to see how full of angst his eyes appeared to be when they had seemed so carefree only a minute ago.

"Tell me," he ordered the Alpha.

"Really, it's nothing Stiles. I'm just worried about you, what might happen to you…" Stiles managed to draw out of Derek.

"Are you sure that's it?" Stiles asked, unsure but distrustful. Derek nodded.

"Well, that's good, because there's nothing to worry about. I've already told you, we're all going to be fine," Stiles announced decisively. Derek looked at the ground and gave a sad smile. Stiles offered another quick peck on the cheek, and once he had assure himself there was nothing he could say to Derek that could change his worried mind, he set course for home.

On the way there, a legion of thoughts trundled through his head. Being a teenager, he always used to think he had his entire life ahead of him. And now, ever since Peter had given Scott the bite, he'd been risking his life more frequently as time went on, and he came closer to dying each time.

Maybe it's time I get real with myself. There's a big chance I'm gonna die on Sunday. Or even worse, the others are, he thought somberly.

For a second he considered calling his dad and selling him some story about working on some project with Scott, but the lying had gotten a little bit out of hand these days. If Stiles didn't watch it, he might have gotten used to it. He decided against turning the wheel around and heading back into Derek's arms. Spending some time with his father was something that he ought to do, when his possible massacre was in a few days. He also decided against thinking about anything but driving for the time being, because his thoughts were getting darker and more depressing by the minute.

Once he had arrived, he parked the car and walked inside to find his dad sitting on the sofa, watching something on the television. A baseball game, probably.

"Hey, dad," Stiles said, finally catching his father's attention.

"Oh, Stiles. Come here," he requested and set the beer he was holding down on the table with the other three identical ones. Well, not entirely identical ones. They were empty; the fourth one had a couple of swigs left in it. Stiles walked over to his dad, who was obviously affected by the alcohol.

"Do you know what happened there?" he asked and pointed to the ground. Stiles saw a claw mark on the hardwood floor, and his heart jumped when he thought of Derek. Then, it threatened to lunge out through his mouth when he thought of what he'd been doing to Derek when the mark was made.

"Looks like a scratch to me," Stiles mumbled after he swallowed hard.

More like a claw mark my ex-wanted fugitive and not strictly a human of a boyfriend made on the floor while he was ejaculating in my mouth after I gave him what he told me was the best blowjob of his life, his brain decided was appropriate to add.

Instead of saying just that, Stiles paraphrased a little bit.

"Maybe from when we moved some furniture around," he suggested.

"Huh," his father exclaimed, stumped. "That?" he said, and pointed to the ground again, only further away and in the other direction.

Stiles stared for a little, not entirely realizing when his father was pointing at, when he noticed the scorch mark on the carpet, from where the wolfsbane had been burning. Stiles was worrying that it was going to come back and bite him in the ass sooner or later when Derek and him were unable to remove it completely as they were trying to make Stiles' living room look like less of a battlefield that same afternoon. Sooner appeared to be much sooner than expected, but at a good timing, considering the Sheriff's vulnerable position.

"There's nothing dad, how tired do you have to be to be seeing things? Why don't you just go to bed?" he said, trying to get him to stop asking things Stiles couldn't answer.

"Yeah, sure," he said and groggily got up. He walked up the steps funnily, and slowly. Stiles watched him all the way, partly to make sure he didn't roll down the staircase, but mostly to amuse himself. He knew that he should really be spending some time with his dad, but there was nothing that could be said right now, not when he was in this state.

After he had emerged victorious from his climb, Mr. Stilinski took a left and headed straight for his bedroom. Stiles doubted that he took off any of his clothes. Nevertheless, he shook his head and took the time to throw away the empty bottles. Stiles went into his room and undressed, and climbed into bed, only too willing to simply pass out and wake up when the entire mess was over.

But that's not how things really are, is it?

As he finally settled into a comfortable position, he realized he was having many of the emotions he'd been having after his mother died. A dreadful sense of foreboding of what was to come clouded his mind at all times, and he felt desperate to close his eyes and disappear. Happen across another place, where he was safe from harm. Not physical harm, but spiritual. At the same time when he felt as if he were ready to give up just about anything to be rid of this complication that had been bestowed upon him, he was entirely and unwaveringly positive that there was no way to get rid of a problem without facing it. Either way, he just felt drained.

He closed his eyes, and he knew it was going to be one of those nights. The kind when he didn't actually get much sleep at all, or if he did, he suffered from nightmares about his late mother. Shuffling around and sweating profusely were the two main activities besides not getting even a handful's worth of good sleep. When the death used to be fresh and the wound in his heart was still ripe, Stiles used to know he was going to wake up in tears only a couple of hours after closing his eyes. The panic attacks didn't help.

Now that he had learned to hold the tears back, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He sure felt on the edge of collapse, especially after what had happened that afternoon. His breathing grew quicker, and he felt a tear dying to dive out of his eye. He realized that his hands were clenched and the lump in his throat was not letting him fall asleep. If he really thought that he would be dreaming within the hour, he'd be lying to himself. He jerked his eyes open, whipped the covers off himself and took off his underwear.

As he walked to the bathroom, he ripped the welled tears away from his face with the back of his hand. He slammed the door behind him and got in the shower and turned it on. He chose the coldest temperature it could offer him, and Stiles' skin protested. After half a minute though, he got used to it. The cold relaxed him by occupying every corner of his mind. It was like hitting a refresh button, and everything he'd been pondering about vanished.

He spent a couple of minutes in there, and stepped out. He was less jerky now, his movements stiff from the chill, but slower, calmer. He picked up a towel and dried himself off, and threw it in the hamper. He walked back to his bedroom, but didn't bother with any clothes. When he walked through the door, he stopped dead in his tracks, but the shock only lasted an instant as he realized that it was Derek that was crouching in his window frame.

"Hey," Stiles greeted in a confused manner.

"Stiles, what's wrong?" Derek demanded, in a manner that suggested that if he didn't get the answer he wanted within the next minute, there was going to be hell to pay.

"What are you talking about?" Stiles brushed off the question as he walked into his bed and got back under the covers, looking for some warmth. Derek stepped inside.

"Stiles, I know something's up."

"You don't have to whisper by the way, my dad had four beers, he's passed out right now."

"Then tell me."

"Derek, why are you even here? I don't know what you're talking about; I don't think if anything serious were happening I'd still be lying in bed."

"I mean with you. You're so…" Derek paused to think of his next word, and made a twisted expression. "Dark."

"Dark?" Stiles asked.

"What you're feeling looks dark. Almost like you wish you were dead," Derek spat. He hated the words he was uttering.

"Derek, what the hell are you talking about? How could you see what I'm feeling?"

"Because, I'm your mate Stiles. I can see what you feel, I can guess what you're thinking, I can feel where you are. If you were a wolf you'd be able to do the same things," he explained without missing a beat. Stiles decided to just go with it, because why not?

"Whatever, I was just thinking about the big fight, that's all."

"No, you think about the big fight all the time. This is different; this feels worse to you than risking your own life. I can't just sit at home and know that you're feeling like crap."

"You know, I really don't want to talk about this. If I did, I'd have picked up the phone and called you."

Derek looked confused at what he was sure wasn't meant to be, but definitely turned out to be a hurtful comment.

"Stiles, I just want to make you feel better. Help you, somehow. I love you, and I can't stand to watch you suffer. Why aren't you letting me help you?" he pleaded, and Stiles was surprised that this man right in front of him was offering every bit of his soul, mind and body to Stiles, and he was stupid enough to decline.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he said quietly, like a child that has just been scolded. He flipped off some of the covers and turned his back to Derek, who got the message and kicked of his shoes and jeans before he got in, simply in his t-shirt and underwear. He pulled the covers back up and grabbed Stiles by the waist. As he was being spooned, Stiles felt Derek's familiar warmth singeing marks into his core. He was positive that his constant unbelievable radiation of heat was a supernatural thing.

It was then that Stiles closed his eyes, and finally fell asleep. Although he hadn't realized before, the carefree place he'd been longing to escape to, he found in the very same bed he was about to bawl his eyes out on ten minutes ago. Only now, he was in Derek's arms. He was safe from harm, and he finally appreciated what kind of a lover he had.

"I miss my mom," Stiles announced. It hurt, but Derek was holding him, and that made it better.

"Me too," Derek replied.

That was the last thing they said to each other before falling asleep. Maybe, if the circumstances were different, the next morning he'd notice that it was the first time he woke up to a dry pillow after he started slipping into one of his spiraling depression phases caused by the death of his mother. It was as if the hole in Stiles' heart was slowly healing, too.

Too soon, the alarm clock was buzzing, and Derek threw an arm around to smack it over the top. It was enough to stop it. Stiles stirred in his sleep a little bit, but didn't wake up. Derek on the other hand could hear Stiles' dad from across the hall getting up. Being the Sheriff also meant not being late. He listened intently as the footsteps approached Stiles' bedroom door, and decided he needed somewhere to hide in less than three seconds. Jumping out of the window was not an option in broad daylight.

Without any need for instruction, Derek flew out of the bed and behind the door, mimicking Erica's actions of not even a week ago, as soon as the door creaked open.

"Come on, Stiles," Mr. Stilinski groaned, and looked away. As Derek got out of the bed, he had knocked the covers half off Stiles' body, which was still naked. He groaned in his sleep.

"Damn it," he said, after he looked at his watch and closed the door. "You should get up!" he called through it and went downstairs for his morning routine. Stiles opened his eyes ever so slowly and looked around. Derek was the first thing he recognized.

"Morning," he croaked.

"Good morning," replied Derek with a smile on his face. How this lazy kid was one of the smart ones never ceased to amaze him. Stiles moaned in protest when he realized he was awake.

"Do I have to go to school?" asked Stiles while scratching his chest. Derek had a small moment of weakness at the sight of his nipples flicking up and down, but he didn't act on it. He walked over to the other side of the bed and picked up his discarded jeans and put them on to hide the morning wood Stiles had thankfully not noticed. If he had, Derek knew there was no way he was going to be able to leave that room before spent a good hour with Stiles.

"Yes, you already missed Monday," said Derek, trying to be the responsible one. He pulled the covers off the teenager completely, and his very own morning erection was exposed. If Derek didn't stop staring in time, he would have thrown himself at Stiles to provide some much needed release.

There aren't enough medals in the world for me right now, he thought as he painfully neared Stiles to nudge him awake, touching him torturously close to his cute behind.

At the touch, Stiles arched his back and yawned, sticking out his ass. Derek bit his lip and did some things to Stiles in his mind that he wasn't sure if they were legal or not.

He turned around, and much to Derek's relief, pulled the covers up over his waist.

"You should come to class with me," he said.

"Yeah, 'cause that works," Derek replied. He heard Stiles' dad run up the stairs and for a second considered hiding again, but there was no threat. The Sheriff was already preoccupied with getting to work on time. He got dressed in a haphazard way and ran back down, slamming the front door behind him.

"Is your car outside?" Stiles asked, suddenly alarmed and sitting up as fast as a rocket.

"No, I ran here," Derek explained. Stiles found it funny that a statement like that was completely normal to him, but to just about any other kid in his school it would seem like the craziest thing. He'd laugh, but his brain wasn't working quite fast enough yet. He turned around and hung his legs off the side of the bed while rubbing his eyes. He had his back to Derek.

"Sorry I had you running over here in the middle of the night," he said submissively, like he was anxious about the answer.

"Stiles, you didn't have me do anything, I decided to come find you on my own," Derek said sympathetically. There was silence for a few seconds and the wolf felt the atmosphere getting heavy.

"It's Friday," announced Stiles. "We only have today, and a couple more days, and I haven't talked to my dad yet. What do I even tell him?" Stiles' tone was dark.

"Nothing, don't worry him," Derek said. "There's no point. Just spend time with him. Make sure he knows you love him. In case..." Derek trailed off. Stiles didn't reply. Instead he got up and walked into the bathroom. He stepped into the tub and turned the water on. As he washed his skin, he couldn't help but thinking how his father would feel if he died. He remembered saying once that death doesn't happen to you, but to those around you. It seemed like he should have listened to himself and stepped out of the fight while that was still an option.

Then, the bathroom door opened and closed. Footsteps approached him and Derek pulled back the curtain. He got in the shower with Stiles and held him under the hot jet.

"Stop feeling like shit," Derek instructed. "It makes me feel even worse because I can't do anything about it."

Stiles smiled at the notion and reached for the soap. They spent their time washing themselves, and each other. It wasn't sexual or tense, simply caring and sensitive. They savored the intimate moment for it was soon over. Derek put a towel around his waist and walked downstairs, to the kitchen. Stiles walked into his room instead. He slowly got dressed and tried not to think about the ominous images that'd been haunting him since last night. Falling back into his depression pattern wasn't something he wanted to do first thing in the morning. Soon enough, he smelled toast and the scent dragged him by the nose to where Derek was.

Walking into the kitchen he saw a model of a man in nothing but a small towel around his waist, making him food. Stiles had to say, from where he was standing, he really had incentive to get on the optimistic side of things. Derek handed him the plate of toast and jam with a smile and Stiles ate gratefully. Once he was done, he shared a small kiss with his wolf he was ready to leave when Derek piped up.

"You're really good," Derek said. "With the magic stuff. You're getting really good, and fast. Morrell said so. You shouldn't be this worried."

Stiles simply stared with a grateful smile. "You talk with people about me?"

"Yes, so stop feeling bad. You're an excellent fighter, practically like a wolf without the werewolf part."

"Well, if you run with the wolves long enough, you learn how to howl," Stiles said with a wink. Soon, he was out of the door and on the way to school.

Maybe I'm being a little too pessimistic, he thought. Maybe he was being perfectly realistic, but Derek definitely helped lift his spirits.

While he was stopped at a red light he heard a honking behind him. He looked at the light but it was still red. After a few seconds the car behind him honked again.

"Where the hell do you want me to go? It's red!" he said, to himself really, and looked through his rear-view mirror. He recognized Allison's car, and turned around. He saw her waving and he waved back.

They drove together and parked next to each other when they arrived.

"Morning, sunshine!" Allison greeted when they had both locked their cars.

"Why are you so happy?" Stiles asked.

"Why shouldn't I be?" she replied. Stiles was a little jealous of her peppiness but being around her made him feel better. He noticed that he generally felt better around others. Maybe it was the feeling of being alone that brought everything crashing down on top of him. They walked together through the school doors and walked to their first class. They made it just in time, and they sat down looking at the teacher bore them with some details about something that they didn't really need to know anyway. Allison turned to Stiles.

"Did you hear about Isaac?" she whispered.

"What about him?" Stiles asked quietly, careful not to catch the teacher's attention.

"He kind of vanished today. Scott texted me he was with him and Erica, and he went to the bathroom but he didn't come back."

Stiles frowned.

"Is he not picking up?" Stiles asked.

"No."

They didn't say another word to each other for the rest of the lesson. Stiles simple hoped that nothing extraordinarily bad was about to happen. But it usually did.

After the bell had rung, they all got up and went into the hallway. Stiles' phone started ringing, and it was Scott.

"Hello? Scott? I can't hear you," Stiles tried to yell over the noise in the corridors.

"Stiles—"

"Scott, I can't hear you, just text me!" he shouted and hung up. Allison made a confused face instead of trying to ask him what was wrong, which would have been pointless on account of the noise. Stiles lifted his shoulders but his phone buzzed.

"COME TO MY LOCKER NOW" the message read. Stiles waved frantically for Allison to follow him, and she complied. He pushed through the sea of people without caring if he hit them in the face with his shoulder. His main concern was getting to the locker.

Once he was there, he saw Scott standing over Erica, who had sat down on the floor holding her head.

"Scott, what's wrong?" Allison asked, and Scott simply handed her a piece of paper in reply. Stiles tried to read it over her shoulder, but people kept bumping into him and he couldn't keep a steady gaze upon the scratchy handwriting.

When she was done reading, she looked up from the paper to Scott with eyes wide in panic. Stiles yanked the page from her hands.

"We have Isaac. On Monday, give us your land, or he will be the first one to die."


	12. War Preparations

Friday dragged on like no other day. The entire pack was conquered by a feeling of despair and sickness that churned around in their stomachs. The teenagers had let Derek and Peter, and even Michael know about Isaac as soon as possible. Their response was highly unexpected, but the pack had gotten their instructions.

They were to spend whatever time they needed to spend with their families during that Friday afternoon to say their goodbyes, in case they were necessary. Friday night, everyone was going to sleep at the Hale house. Saturday night was the attack.

Stiles left school feeling numb. Even though the life-risking battle had only come a single day closer, it was all too real now.

I'm probably gonna die tomorrow.

Everything was routine. He got into his car and slowly drove himself home, without even paying attention to the road. His mind was too busy thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. He wasn't capable of forming a single, coherent thought while he felt overwhelmed by the worries of the entire world which rested upon his shoulders. He came home to find that his father's car was present. It was Friday.

Dad gets off early on Fridays, was the first thing Stiles found himself able to think.

He walked inside to find his dad in the kitchen, cooking. He dumped his bag next to the door and went into the kitchen.

"Hey, Stiles," his dad greeted, after he decided the food being cooked in the oven had had enough of his staring to pick up the pace, and turned around.

"Hey, dad," Stiles said lifelessly. The Sheriff sighed and turned off the oven. Putting a dishrag over his hand, he grabbed the hot plate from inside and produced what looked like a meatloaf.

"Looks good enough, right?" he asked.

Stiles nodded.

No more than five minutes later, they were both sitting at the table, having their lunch. Stiles hadn't eaten at school; he wasn't able to force any food down. Nobody was really, not even Jackson.

"It's good," Stiles offered after a moment of silence.

"Thanks," Mr. Stilinski replied. He spent a few seconds observing his son, and he finally realized something was up with him.

"Stiles, is everything okay?" he asked concernedly. Stiles decided it was time to stop worrying about Isaac for now: it wasn't helping anyone.

"Of course," Stiles countered, returning to his usual sarcastic self. "Can't I say something nice without being accused of a crime?"

"Nobody's accusing you of anything, you just seemed a little bit off is all," he said.

"I'm fine really," Stiles reassured him.

"So, are you doing anything tomorrow?"

"What do you mean?"

"For your birthday?"

Stiles was stumped. How the hell could anyone forget about his own birthday?

"Tomorrow… Yeah, tomorrow I have something special planned with some friends," lied Stiles. Well, not entirely.

"Good, it's good that you're having fun. Just make sure to be careful, and all that," warned the Sheriff.

"Sure, dad. I'll be careful," he said, slowly slipping back into his state of numbness now that the matter of tomorrow's events had been brought back.

His father's cutlery dropping noisily onto his plate jerked him alert.

"Stiles, this is about your mother, isn't it?" Mr. Stilinski asked. Stiles stared. "You were being really weird last year around your birthday, too. Stiles, I need you to talk to me. If this is about your mother then tell me, so I can help you. Maybe we can talk about this."

"What? Mom?" Stiles asked meekly.

"Son, you can't blame yourself forever. I want you to understand that what happened to your mother, it wasn't your fault. She loved us, and we loved her. We still do, and that's all that matters," his father said passionately.

"Dad," Stiles chuckled. "It really is nothing. I've come to terms with mom's death, I'm really okay. I was just thinking about a group project I have to get on with," Stiles explained with a smile.

His father narrowed his eyes at him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." His father believed him.

It was the greatest lie he'd ever dared to tell.

As he walked through the door, he told his dad that he loved him, and he meant every syllable. He closed it behind him, but he kept the act on. He got in his Jeep, but on the way to the Hale house, raindrops started falling. So did Stiles' tears.

"Mom? I'm home!" Scott called loudly.

"I'm doing laundry!" she yelled back from the basement. Scott walked up the stairs and dragged his feet into his bedroom, where he dumped his bag. When he walked back down, he saw his mother holding a big basket of laundry, and he relieved her of that burden.

"Thanks," she said. "Do you mind actually picking out your clothes from in there? I have to run back to work for a little while. Emily is feeling kind of under the weather and Max and I are sharing her shift."

"Oh, sure," Scott said dumbly. He set the basket down gracelessly and hugged his mom. "I love you," he said.

"Ow, Scott, can't breathe," she choked out.

"Right," he said and let go. She looked at him weirdly.

"Well, I love you too… Did you fail a test or something?"

"No, mom, I just love you. I thought you'd like to hear that," he said.

"Oh, of course I do honey, thank you." She gave a friendly wink and flew out the door.

Scott had lunch in solitude.

"Dad! Dad, we need help," Allison exclaimed as she ran into her home. Her father looked up from the kitchen table alarmed.

"Dad, Marco's got Isaac," she explained.

"What? How?" he said, looking confused and with his mouth full of food.

"I don't know. We're going up against them tomorrow, but I don't know if we're strong enough. Dad we need help."

By five o'clock, they were all at Derek's house. Lydia was there, along with Jackson who was the first there. He didn't really need much time to say what he wanted to say to his foster parents, simply because there wasn't that much that wanted to say. Lydia had gone out shopping with her mother, the first that popped into her mind to suggest where they would both have fun. She was the last to arrive.

Once they were all there, Derek, Peter and Michael addressed them.

"Guys," Peter began, "as we all know, Isaac has been kidnapped. Tomorrow is going to be our attack, but we should be just a little bit aware that they might be expecting an attack. Girls," he said, turning to Allison and Lydia, "we trust that you're going to sort things out with Mr. Argent as far as ammunition goes.

"Everyone, our priority is retrieving Isaac safely. After that, we can get to the good stuff. The truth is, out there, I'll do my best to protect each and every one of you, and I'm sure you'll do the same. But the fact remains, we can't be everywhere at all times. There might be casualties. We need to be prepared for the possibility of retreating. And I'm saying all of this now, because I know there won't be time to tomorrow."

Peter fell quiet at that dark note. Nobody spoke, and the sickly feeling haunted them all once more.

"So, what happens between now and tomorrow night?" Maria piped up.

Peter informed them that they were going to be looking at the plans he had been forming with Derek and Michael the past few days, and trying to implement them. They consisted of different formations, various combinations of each other's strengths and weaknesses to form a more efficient, organized attack. They were all sitting around the coffee table once again, leaning over countless pages of notes when Stiles looked up from them and saw that Erica was missing.

"Excuse me," he said to nobody, and went into the kitchen. She wasn't there. He jogged up the stairs, and he could feel a couple of pairs of eyes staring, but he didn't care.

How the fuck do they keep vanishing? His mind screamed.

She wasn't in the bathroom. Stiles ran back down and nearly pulled the front door off its hinges. The rain was pouring, and Erica was sitting on the porch looking and the water fall.

"Erica?" Stiles called? She was a little bit wet.

He closed the door behind him and sat beside her. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," she said. "Just waiting for tomorrow night."

"Then, why don't you come inside?"

"I just want some time alone, to think."

Stiles observed her for a little bit. He knew that she was closest to Isaac than anyone else, and that feeling was mutual for the two wolves. They related to each other, and found support. They had both abandoned their families before they were even adults, finding salvation in a single bite. But Stiles had never thought that Erica would be this affected by Isaac's kidnapping.

"Erica, we're gonna get him back. There's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, well, you don't know that."

"You're right, I don't," said Stiles. "But promise me you won't do anything stupid tomorrow. Like give your life to save someone else."

Erica scoffed.

"That seems stupid to you?" she said, and looked at Stiles for the first time. Lighting flashed somewhere up high.

"It seems reckless. Please don't die tomorrow," Stiles pleaded desperately.

Erica looked down thoughtfully. "Don't you die either, and we've got a deal."

Stiles extended his hand, and Erica shook it. For a second, Stiles felt like that was enough to ensure her safety, but then he knew he was being childish. He ignored the feeling at the back of his head that her promise was going to be broken.

As the pair walked back inside, Lydia and Allison turned their heads up to look at them. Everyone else was already well aware of their arrival.

Stiles sat on the arm rest next to Derek, and Erica found comfort on the floor.

"As I was saying," said Michael. "We need to use every asset we have to our advantage. For example, David, we're going to need you to construct three remote-triggered bombs. Also, Emma, you can see we've integrated your stealth skills into our attack formations. Andrew, we would have sent you in a spy, really, if you were covered in Hale scent."

As Michael went on, Stiles was impressed to see what they had all managed to do in such a limited time. The plans were greatly detailed, and involved everyone, even Stiles. He was to play an important role in range attacks, along with Lydia. Allison was to partner up with Emma in the stealth part of things. David was meant to stay back and trigger the bombs when necessary, while everyone else aimed at taking out as many opponents as possible.

At one point, Stiles needed to use the bathroom. He got up and walked up the stairs. He tried clearing his mind, remembering that Derek could feel it if he started feeling like shit himself. He wondered for a second if Derek knew what Stiles had been feeling and thinking this morning, especially when he was driving to the Hale house. Then, as he flushed the toilet, Derek walked in.

"Wa—You know, you could have let me finish," Stiles exclaimed, and zipped himself up. He started washing his hands when Derek put his hands on Stiles' shoulders and stood behind him, looking in his eyes in the mirror.

"You've certainly had a pleasant morning," said Derek.

"You know, you have no idea how creepy it is that you're in my head all the time, and I can't even tell when you're hungry or horny or just plain bored. You have a very plain face. In fact, it's not even that attractive—" Stiles said, but was caught off and started giggling when Derek nibbled at his neck. When they'd settled down, Derek looked deep into Stiles' eyes.

"You have no idea how much I needed all of this again. A full house, a family and you… I know that what we're going through now is like hell, but at least we've all got each other."

"You're reminding me of some things Ms. Morrell told me once, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing."

Derek chuckled. "I know she might seem cold, but she's actually a genius. We're lucky to have her on our side. She and Dr. Deaton are fighting with us tomorrow, by the way."

Stiles raised his eyebrows.

"Oh yeah, they're great on the field. Especially Deaton, even if he doesn't seem like it," Derek said. "When he was in his prime, I was still a little kid. I saw him in a battle once, and I'm still kind of scared of him."

"Deaton?" Stiles asked, confounded.

"Yes," Derek confirmed. "You'll know what I mean when you see him in action."

They stood in silence for a little while.

"Are you sure we're doing the right thing by leaving Isaac to them until tomorrow? I mean, shouldn't we be attacking today?" Stiles asked.

"To be honest, I have no idea," said Derek with a heavy sigh. "But, it just kind of doesn't feel right tonight. The weather is terrible anyway."

Stiles remembered the dream he'd had of Janice chasing him through the woods in the middle of a downpour. There was nothing more he wanted to say on the subject, so he started walking out of the bathroom, and back downstairs to re-join the others. Derek followed suit.

The rest of the proceedings concerning the plans and strategy-setting didn't take too long. They sat around brainstorming and discussing for about a half hour, and time passed like a breeze. The younger ones had to step away for a few seconds, to call their parents one last time. After the joyless task had been completed, they all spread around the house, each finding ways to occupy themselves. Picking beds and sleeping arrangements was the main attraction, but, being wolves, most of the pack got hungry soon, and Derek offered to go get some takeaway.

"I'll come with you," Stiles declared.

"Oh, well… That's okay actually, I, err… I was going to go with Scott," Derek spluttered awkwardly.

"What?" Scott asked, lifting his head at the sound of his name.

"Come with me," the Alpha commanded. "Now."

The submissive Beta took over the independent teenager inside Scott, and he immediately complied out of the instinct to obey his Alpha.

They both exited the door in a clumsy flurry of movement, and slammed it shut. Stiles remained staring where his wolf had been standing only a few seconds ago.

He grabbed Erica by the arm, and was about to pull her upstairs into one of the rooms, but he realized that it wouldn't really provide any privacy from the pack's super-hearing. He decided instead to just back away into a corner with her.

"What the hell is going on with Derek?" he demanded.

"What?" she asked, baffled. Too baffled.

"He's been cooking something up with Scott, and I'm thinking Allison and other people too! Do you know anything?" Stiles pressed on.

"Stiles, you're being paranoid," she lied badly.

"You're a crappy liar," Stiles asserted.

"Let it go," Andrew called from the other end of the room, in his boom of a voice. Stiles whipped around, and Erica took the chance to escape.

"What? Don't tell me you know something, too?" Stiles whined.

"Just take my advice, Stiles. Let it go, it'll be clear soon enough," Andrew reassured him. Stiles had to admit, it was hard to say no to those eyes. He simply walked to the couch and sat down, and crossed his arms like a little boy that just cannot get what he wants.

Eventually, Michael came and sat down next to him. They talked for a little while, and Michael praised him on his skills with magic. Stiles noted in his mind that Michael had only seen Stiles practice with fire once, at best. The way news travelled around the supernatural world never ceased to amaze him. It was as if all the wolves had nothing better to do all day but to sit down like a bunch of all ladies and chat about the latest gossip.

It was not too long before Derek returned with Scott, bearing food. Considering Derek's crazy driving speeds, and that the weather compromised vision, it had actually taken them a little bit longer than what Stiles had expected. Since all fifteen of them couldn't fit around the kitchen table, they decided there was no use in trying to be civilized. They grabbed their plates and set them on their laps as they sat around the house, on the steps, on the sofas, even on the ground.

Friday night, despite what the next twenty-four hours held in store for them, was a pleasant time for the pack. Even though they were much closer to the big carnage, conversation seemed to flow easier. Everyone was friendly, and Derek's words seemed to be completely accurate. It was like a family in there. That also meant it would hurt much more if any one of them died.

After they had all finished eating, around nine o'clock, Deaton and Morrell showed up. Stiles saw that Derek was right. Given the chance, they were both impressive and friendly.

Well, first impressions…

They had both offered to show Stiles a few tips and tricks involving spells, and he eagerly agreed. He actually pretended to wait for them to have their dinner patiently, but he was dying to get them to hurry up. He was surprised to find how sociable they both were, and within half an hour they were joking with most of the pack members. Suddenly, Morrell got up with her plate and went into the kitchen. Then, she returned empty handed.

"So, Stiles, should we step outside?" she asked. Again, he pretended to be completely surprised by the gesture, as if it weren't the only thing he'd been thinking about the past fifteen minutes. He followed her through the door, and it clicked shut behind him.

"You've been practicing the spark, right?" she asked, after she'd taken a few steps beyond the sea of parked cars in front of the house.

"Yeah," Stiles confirmed. She stopped and turned around.

"All right, care to demonstrate?" she said and crossed her arms as she stood demandingly. Stiles saw that she really was a fun person, she just didn't joke around when it came to business. He could respect that.

"Sure," he said. He recognized his slight feeling of nervousness, but he knew it would only be oil to the fire, literally.

His practice had paid off. The fireball flew effortlessly, and hit the tree Stiles had been aiming at. By now, picturing Marco's face was enough incentive to hit his mark.

Morrell had approached the tree and looked at the charred trunk.

"Come here," she instructed Stiles and waved him over without turning her head. Once he was next to her, she began performing a spell of her own, but it was a different one. Stiles recognized it, but it definitely wasn't the spark one.

Then, she gave a small thrust with her hands, and a yellow light was emitted from them. It encircled the trunk with a swooshing noise, and it was warm. It was beautiful, encouraging and warm. Stiles felt positive emotions rising from within him and filling him completely. Slowly, the black marks left on the trunk faded away, and it was a perfect shade of brown once again.

"That's a healing spell," she explained. "The more practiced you are the bigger wounds you'll be able to heal. Maybe you'll need it tomorrow, but hopefully you won't. A burn is pretty basic, so we're going to be practicing with those. Here, do this," she said, and put up her arms to demonstrate the movements Stiles had to make.

"No, it's fine, I know it," Stiles said. Morrell looked puzzled. "I can't really cast it, but I know how to do the thing," he said explained insufficiently.

"I tried casting it on myself once, but it only worked for a second," he went on. Morrell finally looked satisfied.

"Yeah, that's the major issue with this spell: getting its effects to become permanent." Morrell simply flicked her hand towards the tree trunk and a small flame flew, leaving a blank mark on it.

"How did you do that?" Stiles asked.

"When you get even more practice, you'll be able to just throw fire around like it's nothing," she explained. Stiles looked amazed when he thought about how long it took him to actually be confident to produce fire with considerable ease, but bit his lip to keep himself from pressing on like a child wanting to know more.

"Don't worry, you'll learn in time," she reassured him after she noticed this. "If it's any consolation, first time I ever made fire, I set fire to Deaton's coat."

After Stiles gave a short laugh at the unexpected joke, she instructed him to try the spell.

"The basic thing to do is imagine the target already healed. Then it's just a matter of casting it," she said as she took a step back.

"I thought casting it was the hard part," Stiles said and widened his stance.

"Of course not, Stiles. This is all mind over matter, willing your imagination to manifest is what needs the most practice to master. You've realized that by now, hopefully."

He ignored the last statement and looked at the tree.

Okay, he thought. Clean trunk, no black, everything is perfectly healed…

He cast the spell and, to his surprise, the blackness went away. He was about to exclaim in glorious victory, but the dark charred mark returned. Not only that, a sliver of wood flew off the trunk. He looked at Morrell.

"Well, that's okay," she said hesitantly, careful not to say anything too hurtful. "It wasn't exactly perfect, but you're getting there."

"I made it worse," Stiles stated.

"Yes, I can see that…" she replied. He expected her to go on and say something to console him, but that was it. "Try again."

Stiles exhaled heavily through his nose, and closed his eyes to picture the desired effect as vividly as he could. If it really were mind over matter, then he figured that he didn't need to be seeing as much as he did imagining it. He raised his hands and performed the first part. Then, the second. He was about to complete the third, when he felt a sudden stab of pain on the back of his neck. He almost turned around, but his hands were stuck in their positions, unwilling to move before the step was completed.

The third step practically completed itself, and a yellow light poured out of his hands. It twisted itself around the trunk like a coiling snake, and it slowly faded away, taking with it the mark the fireball had left.

"So," Morrell began, merrily. "Looks like a little bit of adrenaline can go a long way."

Stiles whipped around.

"What did you do to me?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh, nothing really. I just gave you… incentive." At that, she lifted her hand, and a small spark of electricity formed between her thumb and forefinger.

He looked back at the trunk. The charring hadn't returned. He decided he was prepared to ignore what was practically a method of torture in light of his pure badassery. He was casting these spells like it was nothing.

I'm making magic my bitch, he thought.

"Let's see if you can do it without the shock," she suggested, and a small ball of fire flew from behind Stiles, dangerously close to his face and hit the tree. He was sure Morrell was fully taking the opportunity to show off her magic skills.

"All right," Stiles said, and rubbed his palms in anticipation. He coughed and closed his eyes.

Inside the house, there was not one person that hadn't already taken their fair share of peeks through the window, or that had been eavesdropping for the past ten minutes.

"Can you believe that? He's healing trees," Jackson said.

"Well, at least he's healing something. We might need that tomorrow," David said.

"You know what'd be wise right now? Trying to get a good night's sleep," Michael decided to throw in. People shot him looks.

"You seriously think there's a chance any of us can sleep soundly tonight?" Lydia asked, coming from the kitchen and taking a seat on Jackson's lap with a glass of water in her hand. She had decided loving the one her heart wanted was much more satisfying than loving the captain of the lacrosse team.

"There's nothing to waste in trying," Michael said snidely.

"Just relax, sweetie, and sit down! Have some fun while you still can!" Maria added darkly yet cheerfully, and patted him on the back. She stole a glance at Erica who was still sitting on the stairs, gripping her knees with a blank look on her face, and decided there was no point in trying to cheer her up yet another time. She was the one who was most affected by Isaac's disappearing.

"Andrew," she called from across the room. He looked at her, and she nodded her head towards Erica. Andrew got the point, and went and sat next to her.

"Hey, sunshine," he said, and sat beside her heavily yet gracefully, just like Andrew always was. Commanding and caring, rough and sensitive.

She looked at him, and gave a weak, fake smile.

"Why don't you get up? Join the fun," he said and waved a hand at the group of people sitting around the coffee table. Loudest of all were Peter and Deaton, who were telling some apparently hilarious story.

Erica didn't respond.

"Those two go really back, don't they?" he said and pointed to the vet and ex-Alpha.

"Yeah," she answered hollowly. Andrew sighed. He got really exasperated when even his charm and good looks weren't enough.

"There's no reason to be so sulky. We're going to get Isaac back. He's going to be safe, by tomorrow night. Don't worry, Erica," he said, and punched lightly on the side of her arm. At the impact, a tear found the kick it needed to fall from her eye.

"I'm going to bed," she croaked and went upstairs. Emma looked at Andrew with a worried expression, and he just shook his head. Erica just needed to be alone. There was nothing anyone could say to her to get her to change her mind.

The next half hour was spent by hearing people, mostly Maria and David, tell stories and answer questions, while one by one, others decided that it was time to go to bed. Slowly, the living room emptied save for Jackson, Peter, Derek, Scott and Allison.

"I think I need a shower," Peter declared and got up from his seat. He walked upstairs and locked himself in there for the following minutes. At that, Derek beamed.

"What?" Allison asked. Derek switched his gaze to meet hers, and only then did he realize he was smiling. He put on his usual serious expression.

"Nothing," he said. Allison decided not to press on the matter, but Scott nodded to the front porch, indirectly asking him if it was about Stiles. He knew what it was like to have a mate, to be able to relate to their every emotion at any given time.

Derek just winked.

"Well, I'm joining Lydia," Jackson said, and got up and walked upstairs. He was to sleep with Lydia in Isaac's empty bed. Erica wasn't to know that. She actually shared her bed with Emma, and Peter shared his with Michael, who was already asleep. Derek, naturally, slept with Stiles, and Allison and Scott rested on two of the couches. Maria slept on the other one, while everyone else just had to survive with sleeping in their cars, even Dr. Deaton and Ms. Morrell.

"That was quick," remarked Scott. "You usually take like twenty minutes to finish…"

"Scott! I can't believe you just said that in public!" Allison shrieked and gripped Scott's arm as tightly as she could, to no avail. His superhuman super-strength registered what would have been a painful touch as a dust particle breezing by.

"What?" he asked, looking at her purely confounded. Derek's eyebrows were raised higher than ever. "Oh, no! I meant, when you take a shower, 'cause Peter just got out of the bathroom! You like to take long showers, that's it!"

Derek pretended to go into the kitchen to get himself a drink in order to spare Allison some of the embarrassment. As soon as he had closed the door behind him, he was in quiet hysterics.

Stiles chose that moment to walk in with Morrell.

"Hey, guys. Is everyone slee—Allison, why are you red?" Stiles asked.

"Nothing. I'm gonna bet blankets," she said sternly and walked off.

"Dude, what the hell did you do?" Stiles asked after she was out of earshot.

"I think I said something I shouldn't have in front of Derek," Scott said like a little puppy.

Morrell and Stiles sat on the other couch.

"Why did it bother Allison so much?" Stiles pried on.

"It was sexual," he replied with a suggestive look.

Morrell simply shook her head. "Boys," she said.

"What's wrong with boys?" Derek said, as he came back into the room with a smile to beat all others.

"Well, this is a conversation I can hopefully live without," she said, and got up. "I am now going to sleep in my very small car. Goodnight," she went on awkwardly and closed the front door behind her.

"She seems fun," Scott said.

"Yeah, she really can be," Stiles said.

"You know what else is fun?" added Derek, and grabbed Stiles in his arms like a Disney princess. "Showers."

Derek walked up the stairs with his lover in his arms, giggling all the way to the bathroom, and Scott groaned when he thought about what they were about to do.

He kicked the door open and set Stiles down, who was still laughing like a little three-year-old.

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" he said as Derek removed both of their shirts. "I mean we're in a house full of wolves, it seems like—"

Stiles shut up when Derek dropped his pants.

"A very good idea," he finished. Stiles pulled off his own jeans too, and jumped on Derek, wrapping his legs around his waist. In two long strides, Derek was at the tub. He got in slowly, careful not to slip on the already wet floor. He pressed Stiles against the wall opposite him and waved a hand to his side aimlessly –since he was busy trying to fuse his tongue with Stiles'- until he found his target and turned on the hot water.

It steamed off them as Derek let Stiles hold himself up and put two hands behind him to provide support as he slid down until he was laying in the tub, with Stiles on top of him, who broke the kiss just for little bit of dirty talk.

"You really like shower sex, don't you?" he asked as he run his hands up and down Derek's chiseled torso. Each time he said something, his lips brushed against Derek's.

"Not as much as you like me fucking your ass," Derek said in a deep rumble. His eyes were glowing red and his answer had drawn a laugh from Stiles.

"Wow, you really get to the point, don't you?"

"This one?" he asked, and slid a finger down between Stiles' cheeks until he found his hole, and stopped.

"Well, that's good. But I was thinking of something else," Stiles replied and rubbed Derek's cock head with his entire hand, earning a low growl.

"Guys," someone called from next door. Stiles giggled.

"I told you! We have to be really quiet," he said.

"Good enough," growled Derek. Fighting to keep his fangs back, he bit down on Stiles' neck and he gasped. It hurt, but he was loving it.

Huh, I never knew I was kinky like that, thought Stiles.

Stiles was about to ask Derek to play with his dick, but the wolf was already a step ahead of him. He grabbed Stiles' mushroom-tipped tool in his hand, and started jerking. Stiles moaned, and returned the favor while lapping at Derek's erect nipple. Derek leaned back and grabbed Stiles head, pressing it harder into his chest. At one point, he paused to come up for air.

"Damn, if I knew you were into nipple stuff so much, I'd have tried it sooner," Stiles joked. He was sure the wolves of the house were about to blow their brains out. Derek shushed him and had him get on his knees. Then, he gracefully spun around, landing on his ass again, but his head under Stiles' ass. He got to work on the asshole, making him shiver and moan both in pleasure and anticipation. Stiles bit his lip to keep himself from egging Derek on, and decided to occupy his mouth in another way.

He dropped on all fours, and suddenly the boys were in a 69. The further Derek pushed his tongue into Stiles' asshole, the further Stiles pushed his head down on Derek's cock. Now that he had his mouth full, he felt free to moan as the vibrations shook the wolf's cock and he found it increasingly hard to keep quiet. He brought his hands up and smacked Stiles' ass, drawing a rosy shade from each cheek. Then, he spread them out and buried his face in the smooth ass.

Stiles moved his tongue down to Derek's balls, but he never forgot the cock. He kept stroking it as he nuzzled on the plump, hairless low-hangers. Derek decided it was time to slip a finger into the asshole he had so well rimmed in preparation, Stiles was about to beg for him to stick something up there. The pressure and the thickness was perfect, but very soon Derek was able to slide a second finger in. Stiles took a break from hungrily going down on him just so he could gasp and get used to the pressure. Whenever he thought it couldn't get better, Derek surprised him.

He would have actually tried to get a third one in, but not tonight. Stiles was straight up by now, giving up hope on being able to concentrate on a blowjob while he was being finger fucked like this. Derek found it particularly easy to slide out from underneath him and run outside the bathroom.

"Derek?" Stiles called, but no response. In the middle of one of the most intense sexual experiences of his life, Derek just ran away.

"What the fuck?" he whispered to himself. It was only a few seconds later that he got his explanation. Derek returned with a condom wrapped around his dick. While he was running towards Stiles, it bounced up and down frantically, drawing a smile from the comic within Stiles, strongly marking his presence even in the middle of intercourse.

Derek slid back in underneath Stiles, but this time he put his waist right under Stiles'. He had no problem sitting on Derek's cock, navigating it with his own hand until it was all in. Stiles let himself fall forward until his forehead was pressed against Derek's and he was looking deep inside those bright red eyes. There wasn't much depth to them, only sex was discernible in that gaze.

Stiles bounced up and down, slowly at first, and then picking up the pace. He almost started screaming out in pure bliss, but Derek kept him quiet by busying his mouth with his own. It was sloppy and animal, but the jet of water washed away their smeared saliva. Stiles' balls slapped noisily against Derek's lower abdomen, and his happy trail provided friction. He was grabbing Stiles by the waist, but something inside him twitched and his asshole suddenly got ten times tighter, and Derek's body jerked forward. He dug his nails into Stiles' shoulder blades and drew them down to his ass, leaving behind red marks, while trying desperately to hold onto sanity and not bring out his real claws and cause some real damage.

Stiles, instead of yelping out in pain, sat up straight, shut his watering eyes tight, threw his head back as he held his temples with his hands, and arched his back. His mouth was open but no sound was coming out. Derek decided to take matters into his own hands, and grabbed Stiles' hips again, tighter this time, keeping them in place. Then, he thrust his own dick in and out as fast as he could. Stiles threw his hands down, and set them down on each side of Derek's head on the rim of the bath tub to hold himself up. Derek clenched his teeth and fucked him even hard, motivated by the completely ecstatic and sexed-out look on Stiles' face.

"Oh, my God, Derek," he whined, his voice dripping with lust. Knowing what was coming, Derek put a hand around Stiles' cock and jerked it ferociously, drawing the cum out of him like he was sucking it through his penis. A few drops landed in Derek's gasping mouth, and he swallowed whatever was given to him greedily. Stiles' pulsing asshole was exactly what Derek needed to go over the edge and shoot his load before he even managed to pull out. His back arched massively, almost tipping Stiles backwards, and he grabbed either side of the tub in his crazed ejaculation, ripping the curtain to shreds with his claws that he couldn't hold back anymore.

"How the fuck do we always end up breaking something?"


	13. Mates

Stiles woke with a start that Saturday morning. Another one of his numerous nightmares he'd been having of late had been kind enough to grace him with its presence all through the night. When he realized where he was, and his pulse started going back down to a normal level, he was glad to be sitting next to Derek at times like these.

Only he wasn't.

Stiles pulled back the covers from the side of the bed, on which Derek had slept, just in the unaccountable case that the big bad wolf had managed to hide his bulky body underneath the white duvet. As it turned out, that wasn't the case. He sighed at the fact that he was waking up alone, and remembered something Allison had said when she and Stiles had been talking about her relationship with Scott, something about how it felt slightly haunting to wake up alone when they'd fallen asleep in each other's protective embrace.

He swung his legs off the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. The light was gentle against his tenderly pale skin, and Stiles had always loved the way it danced and weaved through Derek's bedroom window which always hid its face behind branches and leaves. A sad smile skipped across his face just for an instant, when he realized this beautiful morning was to give way to a most bloody and death-filled night.

Stiles got up and walked through the bedroom door, when he realized he was still naked. Walking back in, he decided that putting on Derek's clothes was the only option at this point. As he was trying to find some bottoms, he caught himself in the mirror. When he was pulling up a pair of tracksuit bottoms, he caught his reflection in the full-body mirror that hung on the wall, and moved in front of it to get the full effect. His mind brought forth different mentions from books and movies, when people looked at themselves and felt like they looked different in near-death situations. As if they had changed, or they somehow appeared bigger, stronger, more ready for battle. Stiles thought he just looked sadder. But, turning around and looking at the scratch marks Derek had left on his back the previous night didn't fail to lift his spirits.

He got fully dressed and walked into the bathroom and washed his face very quickly. He didn't bother checking on the others' bedrooms, simply because he didn't think his face was the first thing they wanted to see at half past nine in the morning. As he navigated his way towards the kitchen, he wished for a second that he had a werewolf nose to be able to track Derek down quicker. As soon as he set foot in the living room, he noticed that something was off. The blankets on all three couches were folded and stacked, which meant that Allison, Scott and Maria were all up, as well as Derek.

Where the hell is everyone? Stiles thought. He was about to start getting worried when he walked into the kitchen.

"Surprise!" everyone screamed at the top of their lungs. Stiles barely had time to shut his eyes and shield his face before mounds of confetti and glitter flew in every single direction, including into his mouth. After the onslaught had ceased, he looked up to see everyone laughing and beaming at him and standing around Derek, who was holding up a cake that said 'Happy Birthday!' in frosting and supported eighteen blazing candles. Scott was standing next to him, and patted him on the shoulder like an old friend, and Derek turned and looked at him with a knowing smile and nod.

Lydia was in hysterics, and Jackson wasted no time in grabbing the camera from her hands and taking a picture of Stiles' dumbfounded face. He would be damned if that was something he was going to let Stiles forget. Everyone was staring at him and laughing at his expression, urging him on to move up to Derek and blow out the candles. Finally, Erica came up behind Stiles and pushed him forward. Even she was smiling from ear to ear.

"Blow them out!" she instructed him, and after the instruction registered in his brain, he obeyed it. The entire pack cheered. Since he didn't feel up to doing it himself yet, Derek aided him by handing the cake to Scott and kissing Stiles. There was whistling, but it wasn't hot and sloppy. Just a quick birthday peck. It seemed to reset Stiles and now he shared their happiness. Before joining in on the festivities, he took a second to pinch Scott and Derek.

"I knew you two were up to something!" he accused them. They spent the rest of their morning celebrating Stiles' first steps into adulthood by indulging themselves in some deliciously unhealthy chocolate cake and congratulating and wishing him a happy birthday. Stiles was positively beaming by the time noon rolled around: he had never thought that a combination of his eighteenth birthday and possibly the last day of his life could be so joy-filled, after all.

Even the newest members of the pack were behaving like close family members as they listened to him go on and on about things he'd done and trouble he'd gotten himself into, like an old man full of tales of wisdom, most of which involved Scott, and unfortunately, his mother. He tried not to think about her death, but it was hard not to, considering how close it was to his birthday. Stiles was having the time of his life when his father called.

"Stiles? Can you hear me?" he asked.

"Yeah, dad, what's up?"

"Nothing, it just sounds noisy over there… Are you with your friends?"

Stiles looked around at the people surrounding him and smiled.

"Yeah, I am," he said thoughtfully.

"Well, happy eighteenth son!" his dad added after a short pause. "Are you having fun?"

"Always."

"Good, good… See, if you haven't gotten anything planned for tonight, maybe we could go have dinner? Like a father-son thing?" his dad said hesitantly. Stiles sensed that his dad almost didn't want to ask, as if he were afraid of being rejected, as if he were afraid of Stiles preferring to spend his birthday without having his father involved in it. The fact that his own father thought that Stiles saw him as an absolute bother hurt him. Then, he realized that dinner might not even be an option for Stiles, but he agreed anyway.

"Of course dad, I'd love to spend tonight together!"

The relief was obvious in the Sheriff's voice.

"Okay, well I'll call you when finish here. Happy birthday, again."

"Thanks, dad. Oh, hey!"

"Yeah?" his father asked expectantly.

"Um…" Stiles looked for something to say to get the conversation to carry on. He didn't want to just hang up like that. "I love you," was the only thing that would come to him quick enough in order to not sound like he was hiding something.

"Love you too, son." They hung up and Stiles looked up from his phone with a troubled face. The first thing he saw was Derek's sympathetic look just waiting to catch his gaze.

"I hate how you always know what I'm feeling," Stiles announced, unnaturally quiet, but he knew the Alpha would be able to hear him. Derek simply walked over to Stiles, planted a caring kiss upon his forehead, dissolving away the worried lines of his furrowed brow, and put a supportive arm around Stiles' shoulders. He guided him back into the kitchen, where the festivities consisted mainly of smiles, laughter, and jokes. The new adult was glad to see even Peter and Michael enjoying themselves. Along with Derek, they had been the most worried about Saturday night, understandably. They were the ones bearing the responsibility of the entire pack on their shoulders.

Time fleeted by shamelessly, and although it was very near lunchtime, nobody was hungry on account of the cake. Michael kept looking at David suggestively.

"Something's weird," Zachary announced.

"What? Is it the cake?" Allison asked and moved her hand to graze her own stomach, worried that she would be vomiting soon enough.

"No," he replied, and she obviously relaxed. "Weird in the atmosphere."

He looked around, and then at Michael. Then he knew.

"No, not now," Zachary simply instructed.

"It's better if it is now," Michael replied.

"In broad daylight?" the massive man replied and waved a brick of a hand to the window, emphasizing the 'daylight' part of his words.

"They won't be thinking to be looking for him now," Michael simply stated.

"Can you guys elaborate for those of us who aren't supernaturally good at picking up vibes?" Lydia squeaked.

"He wants to send David to plant the bombs now," boomed Zachary accusingly. Stiles had to hand it to Zachary: he was holding his own pretty well. If that tower of a man had been laughing a verbal offence at Stiles, he would have crumbled at the first syllable. No one seemed to have a response to Zachary's declaration.

"David?" simply asked Peter.

David closed his eyes and swallowed. Then he exhaled heavily through his nose and spoke.

"I think… It would be beneficial if I infiltrated their grounds now and planted my explosives," he said very, very hesitantly.

"David, you don't need—" Emma started.

"Yes, I do. A strong surprise attack is very much beneficial."

"But they've kidnapped Isaac. They would be expecting an attack anytime now. How much of a surprise would it be either way?" she protested. David's reply was to get up, grab a khaki canvas bag that had been sitting by the kitchen door and walk out.

"I'm going," he announced, and slammed the front door behind him. Deaton turned and whispered something to Morrell, and she nodded.

"Well, crap," stated Emma, and walked to the living room, where she slumped down into a couch. Stiles looked at Michael, but he kept avoiding his gaze, so he walked over.

"What the hell was that?" hissed Stiles quietly, but he knew that almost everyone in the room could still hear him. They respectfully, but awkwardly, shuffled out of the kitchen. Michael looked to the side, and only held Stiles' gaze for a second before he looked at the floor instead. Then, when Stiles started talking again, he was forced to look at him.

"You know you could have just sent him to get killed, right?" Stiles asked impatiently, like a mother scolding her child.

"Stiles, it's better like this. When would you have preferred for him to go?" Michael countered.

"If there weren't a time that was so risky, I would have preferred for him not to go at all! What if he does get hurt? That's gonna be on you," Stiles continued.

"I know, and I'm prepared to deal with that. You just prepare for tonight," Michael said, and walked away. Stiles stood staring, dumbfounded that this was the genius they were all trusting to form a successful plan to save their lives. He was pretty certain Michael wasn't his favorite anymore.

Stiles walked into the living room to find everyone except for Isaac and David to be sitting around on the sofas, making awkward small talk. Derek was also gone.

"Where's Derek?" Stiles asked.

"On the front porch," replied Scott. Stiles was about to go up and use the bathroom, when Scott continued. "Why don't you go check on him?"

Stiles turned around and glared at Scott.

"Why?" he said with narrowed eyes.

"Nothing," Scott immediately replied, too defensively. "Just a suggestion." Stiles knew those two were hiding something else from him, and he really didn't like surprises.

He walked out of the house and shut the door behind him, but Derek was nowhere to be found.

"Derek?" Stiles called. There was no reply.

"Derek, come on," he said more loudly. He was about to step off the porch when Derek just dropped from the sky in front of him.

"Good God!" Stiles yelped and jumped back.

"Sorry I scared you," Derek chuckled and moved forward to slide his arms around Stiles' waist. But he wasn't in the mood for more unexpected events peeking around the corner.

"So, you and Scott have something else in store for me?" he said with raised eyebrows.

"No, what makes you say that?" said Derek sarcastically, his sweet, comforting expression unfazed by Stiles' attitude, who was clutching Derek's arms.

"Would you like to tell me what that could be?" Stiles pressed on.

"Okay, but, I'm going to need you to be calm about this," he stated, taking on a more serious tone.

"Should I be worried?" asked Stiles.

"No, not really…"

"Then, tell me."

"Okay." Derek paused and sighed anxiously.

"Be my mate," he demanded. Stiles cocked his head and looked at him, puzzled.

"What?"

"I want you to be my mate," Derek repeated.

"I thought I already was your mate."

"Well, kind of, yeah…" he said, squirming on the spot like a small child, trying to get his way. "But not completely. I mean, I haven't marked you."

"Marked me? Like dogs do? You want to pee on me? Derek, I'm sorry to burst your bubble but I'm not really into that kind—"

"No, mark you as in bite you. As in, make you mine," Derek elaborated. "But not the bite, just a mark bite."

Stiles stared at his wolf.

"So, let me get this straight. You want to give me a bite, that won't change me, but it will mark me?"

"Yeah," Derek said, with a satisfied smile and nod. He moved his face and pressed it against Stiles' neck, giving him small pecks, leading to his shoulder. Stiles shuddered.

"Derek?"

"Hmm?"

"You realize I have no idea what you're talking about?"

Derek sighed and looked up.

"If we're gonna be real mates, I'm gonna have to bite you. That means that we're bound together. You'll be able to feel me like I can feel you. We'll be closer than ever. It's what wolves do."

"But I'm not a wolf," Stiles said worriedly. He was concerned about a set of fangs piercing his skin more than anything else. "I don't bite my boyfriends."

"See, that's the point," Derek insisted. "You're not just my boyfriend. You're my mate. And I want you to know it, I want to you bear that mark, one that states that we're mates. Not a lot of people do it anymore, Stiles. It's a declaration of our commitment to each other."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Just for the record, I'm not trying to put you down, but that kind of sounds like you're trying to get me to marry you."

"No, Stiles, it's different. It's—" Derek's shoulders slumped and he looked down. "Look, if you don't wanna be mates now, you won't wanna be mates for a long time from now, so there's really no point in this conversation." Defeated, Derek was about to walk away when Stiles put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled Derek down to his shoulder, pressing his mouth to it.

"Bite me." Stiles felt Derek's lips twist into a smirk on his skin, and then both his wrists being grabbed and held tight.

"Derek, let me go—" The next thing he felt was Derek's fangs sinking into his skin, and there wasn't that much of it on his bones. Stiles yelped and grunted deeply, only barely managing to drown his scream. The pain seared through him even though the bite lasted for a second. Derek had now wrapped his arms around Stiles completely, holding him tight and keeping him from flailing his arms and legs. If Derek hadn't known to be holding Stiles up, he'd be looking like he was having an epileptic seizure.

Eventually, the fire burned itself out and Stiles calmed down. He gasped heavily until he got his breathing under control and looked up into Derek's eyes.

"Well… Fuck." After the deeply meaningful statement, Stiles looked at his shoulder, where there were copious amounts of blood, but no sign of an open wound. There was however, a scar of a set of fangs.

"Is that gonna stay there?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah, that's the point. Now everyone knows that you're mine," Derek said. Stiles raised his eyebrows at him and made an offended face.

"That we're together," he corrected.

"Well," Stiles said. "Despite the fact that I just went through the world's most physically painful marriage, I seem to be very happy."

"No, that's me. I told you, you can feel me now. You're feeling my happiness," Derek explained.

"Oh… It makes me happy too, though." Stiles was thoughtful for a second. "Wait. Is it possible that we just feed off each other's happiness and we get stuck in a never-ending loop so we just get happier and happier until we overdose and pass out?"

Derek was laughing at Stiles before he even stopped talking, so he pressed their lips together to stop him from laughing hard enough to cry. Derek kept chuckling and Stiles felt it rumbling, but he also felt that happiness, that laughter deep in his chest. Like the two of them shared the same mind.

"I like this," Stiles said quietly. "Thank you."

Derek moaned contentedly. "No problem. Happy birthday."

Stiles walked back, followed by Derek, and they both went upstairs to get the bloody sweater off him. As they walked through the living room to get to the stairs, they got looks from the werewolves that recognized their new relationship, somewhat intimidated looks. As if they now knew to keep away from Stiles because Derek could be there to protect him in seconds.

In the bedroom, Derek slipped his hands under Stiles' top and took his sweet time peeling it off his skin. He made sure to graze his pale skin with his fuzzy forearms as much as possible. When it was off, Derek look deep inside Stiles' eyes, in which he found a deeper understanding now. There was nothing they couldn't know about each other. Where they were, how they felt, what they thought. They were practically the same person, and Derek had been dreaming for so long to be able to have that kind of connection with someone. He realized Stiles was still unsure about the whole situation, but he would come around. For now, the fact that the young adult right in front of him was his mate was enough to send him into the clouds.

"What?" smiled Stiles when he saw, and felt, Derek's bliss.

"Nothing, just thinking." Derek walked out of the room and returned quickly with a wet towel. He took care of Stiles, wiping the dried blood off him and carefully caressing the scar with his fingertips. He picked out a new sweatshirt for him to wear and put it on him.

"Why are you acting like I'm your little boy?" laughed Stiles. He was actually curious, but he couldn't help but laughing a little bit due to the tiny tendrils of Derek's ecstasy seeping into him.

"I wanna take care of you," Derek cooed and stood behind Stiles, holding his hands and ducking down to press his lips into his neck. Stiles looked up and looked at himself in the mirror, with his arms wrapped around himself and Derek's on top of his, protecting him always. He felt safe, and happy.

"Yes. Both of us," Derek suddenly said into Stiles' neck.

"Both of us what?" Stiles asked.

"Michael asked if we want lunch," Derek provided.

"Oh, right. Super-hearing. Forgot."

"We're gonna have lunch, and then rest a little bit. After that, we're going to the mines."

Stiles swallowed. That came out of Derek very coolly, but he could sense the twisting anxiety in his stomach.

"Derek, now that we're mates, what happens if only one of us dies?"

Derek sighed. He had thought about this before, obviously, but had shoved it into the back of his head. Something as painful as this wasn't to be considered unless it was actually necessary.

"Nothing."

"Derek, come on," Stiles said, and turned around. "If I die, will you ever be able to come to terms with it? At least, as much as normal people can come to terms with death?"

Derek looked like he had been struck in the gut, and Stiles felt his pain. He regretted saying that and causing that pain, but he had to know.

"Stiles, I love you," he croaked.

"I know. But, what if I die today?"

"Then, I'll love you anyhow."

Stiles looked at the ground because he couldn't stand looking at Derek's eyes. Then he buried his face into his chest and held him tight. He was more worried about overdosing on depression now, rather than happiness.


	14. Onslaught

"We're going to get him back, you know," Stiles tried to encourage the solemn Erica. She and Stiles were the two first to be ready to get in the cars and head to the mines. They were both standing on the porch waiting for everyone else to come, and he'd been looking at her intently for some time now.

"Yeah…" she moaned to herself, while she looked at the horizon where the sun was starting to set. Stiles sighed. Unless she was ripping out the throats of the people that had taken Isaac to make her way to him, there was no way to cheer Erica up. Stiles gave up soon, as he heard footsteps approaching from inside.

"You guys ready?" Scott asked as he opened the door. Allison was behind him, followed by the other couple of the house, Lydia and Jackson bringing up the rear.

"Yeah, just waiting for everybody else," Stiles offered, as it was obvious Erica was about to be making any small talk anytime soon.

"Oh, here," Scott said, suddenly remembering something. "Derek asked me to give you these so you could get in. He said he was driving the two of you," Scott mumbled as he finally fished out Derek's car keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Stiles. He decided standing around was pointless, so he walked to the car and Erica followed him quietly.

As he opened the passenger's door, he asked Erica, "You want to ride shotgun?"

She simply shook her head and got in the back seat. If hadn't gotten used to that kind of behavior on her part up to that point, he might have snapped and demanded some kind of explanation. But, he knew better.

Either way, he had bigger fish to fry with trying to keep his lunch from escaping through violent projections.

He was so nervous he was feeling nauseous, and he refused to bring his seatbelt over his stomach unless it was absolutely necessary. Through the wing mirror on his side he could see Erica behind him, and through the drizzled windshield, he recognized movement at the porn of the house, indicating more members of the pack were getting ready to file out and into the vehicles.

It would be imperative for them to arrive efficiently, and at the same time. If one car strayed too far ahead, it would alert Marco's Betas of the Hales' arrival, destroying their advantage of surprise. But, Stiles wouldn't be the one driving, so he didn't think about that. He just focused on his stomach.

"Stiles," Erica suddenly spoke out of nowhere.

"Hm?" replied Stiles.

"Do you think we're going to live through tonight?" she asked. Stiles knew she was asking about Isaac more than about herself.

"I hope so," he said, and looked at her dead expression through the mirror once more. Derek had stepped off the porch and was approaching the Camaro in long strides. Everyone else followed and got into their cars.

Last night, Deaton had apparently come in his minivan. He got in the driver's seat with Ms. Morrell sitting next to him, and Scott, Allison, Lydia and Jackson got in the back. In Maria's Volvo, which she drove, was Andrew next to her, and Zachary, Peter and Michael were squashed in the back. Emma quickly jogged after Derek, having forgotten something and stayed a little longer in the house, and got in next to Erica just a few seconds after Derek got in his seat.

"We all ready?" Derek asked. Deaton's hand popped out his window a second later, giving a thumbs up, and so did Maria's. "Let's go, then."

The ride to the mines was torture. Either Derek's driving had gotten even more reckless, or Stiles' stomach was refusing to calm down.

"Okay," Derek said, while they were on the road. Stiles assumed that the occupants of all three cars would be able to hear Derek's voice over the engines and the tires. The Camaro was in the front, the minivan was second and the Volvo last. "There's not gonna be any time to waste to stop and get out. As soon as we get there, David is going to see us and set of the explosives. We're going to slam on the brakes and jump out of the vehicles. After that, you all know what you have to do."

The last comment was exceptionally reluctant.

"Yeah, and make sure you're not alone if that's possible," Derek mumbled after a few seconds.

Most of the car ride was heavily silent. Stiles was always aware of the abandoned miles that loomed in the distance over a heavily forested area of Beacon Hills. They were remote. A good choice for a hideout for a bunch of homeless werewolves. It was also eerily lifeless. They just looked empty, and… dead.

"Derek?" Stiles asked. Derek simply grunted and kept his eyes on the road. It would hardly be a five-minute drive if he kept speeding like this.

"Do you know if David's okay?" he followed up. Stiles hadn't actually been meaning to ask about David, he just wanted to have something to say to fill the quietness.

"I'm not sure. Technically, he's not part of our pack, so even if I could get a small idea of my Betas, David wouldn't be one of them. Either way, they won't be staying after the battle, so there's no point in them joining the Hales."

"What?" Erica asked from the backseat. "You guys are leaving?"

"Well… Yeah," said Emma, slightly guiltily. "We have packs waiting for us, back home, you know. They weren't too happy with letting us leave and fight for some other pack. My Alpha only let me leave 'cause I dropped Peter's name. They go way back."

And that was about it as far as their conversation went. Stiles just stared at the mines that came closer every second, but even then, he didn't speak. He knew Derek was trying extremely hard to look like he was calm, but Stiles knew he wasn't. He was about to have a panic attack, and his heartbeat was probably giving him away to the other occupants of the car. They were too preoccupied trying to figure out how to survive the next few minutes of their lives, but if they'd focused, they'd know he was borderline freaking out.

Soon enough, they were slowing down, but for this particular group, that just meant that they were driving at normal, human speed. Derek took a wildly sharp left turn, and the rest followed. Stiles regretted not putting on his seatbelt as he was sliding around in his seat. It was a short, narrow road, and halfway down it, Derek pulled his car to the side. It was a bumpy ride until he slowed to a stop, and the other cars parked behind him. They wasted no time in filing out.

"Stiles!" Lydia hissed as she sneaked up behind him. Everyone else was running around, trying to find their partners in a bustle of movement, and Stiles whipped his head around in a frenzied manner. He recognized his surroundings from the descriptions Michael and Peter had given him as far as planning went.

"We're up there," she said, and pointed to a small hill. The trees weren't even thinning at its top, which would give them sufficient cover as well as the night and the fog that was starting to form around them. There was no moonlight to give them away, not by sight at least – the clouds had already rolled in.

For a second, before he would be possibly seeing Derek for the last time, he turned and looked for his gaze. Their eyes met for a second, but Stiles already knew there was no time to waste. Everything that had to be said between them had already been made known. They simply gave each other a small, sharp nod, and they were both on their way.

Stiles' hairs were at attention as he weaved his way through the tress, closely followed by Lydia. As soon as they had entered the wooded area beside the street, the bustling from the rest of the Hales had decreased significantly. Things got ominously quiet as they got into position on top of the hill. Lydia expertly got her weapon ready, making sure the extra ammunition was easily accessible. Stiles noticed that Deaton and Morrell were at the bottom of the hill in front of them, the side where its face was much steeper. If they weren't careful, they could slide down. It was only five meters worth of a fall, but it could cost them their lives nevertheless.

Stiles saw Allison trying to take her position somewhere off to the left, deeper in the woods along with Emma. Their department was stealth. Lydia, and the three sorcerers of the group were responsible for ranged attacks. Everyone else was to simply charge, and use their strengths to their advantage. Stiles saw them all move up, and he begrudgingly realized that he would either have to wait for the enemy to come closer, or follow the other further up to get a clear shot. Between the fog and the thick growth, there was no way he would be able to shoot anything where he saw the werewolves had taken up their positions.

Stiles felt a newfound tension in his chest, and he knew that was probably Derek's. He could see an arm off in the distance being raised. Then it was lowered, but quickly replaced. This was repeated, but the third time was critical. Stiles took too long to realize that the arm was counting to three, and that it was probably his mate's.

At three, the explosives went off, and Stiles' world was rocked to its very core. The ground shook, lights flashed turning night into day, booming noises deafened him. Several large boulders detached from the face of the mountainside and rolled down, crushing anyone that might have been in their path. He was surprised how none of the people nearby had called the police.

"Shit," said Stiles.

"What?" Lydia whispered with a crazy expression. She was completely taken aback by Stiles' chatty mood at this point in the night.

"What if that didn't kill any of them? What if it just pissed them off?"

Lydia remained staring at him.

"Well, aren't you just a breath of fresh air…" she whined snidely. If Stiles had been planning to go on, he was cut off. A loud, ferocious howl sounded from somewhere of in the distance. Stiles gulped. They were coming for them.

"We can't actually do any damage from here," he pointed out.

She sighed. "I know, we need to get down there." They both slid down the face of the hill, managing to stay upright, and joined Morrell and Deaton.

"What are you doing? Your posts are up there!" she shrieked.

"We can't do anything from up there!" Lydia countered. There was no time for arguing. Rustling sounded from where the wolves were lined, indicating the arrival of their first opponents, about fifty meters ahead. All four of them got into their fighting stances.

There was a loud yelping and a blast of motion as the first wave of opponents hit the Hale pack. Stiles recognized Zachary's broad shoulders smashing one of the fours wolves that had charged, into a tree nearby. Those four were heavily outnumbered, and Zachary made short work of the first one. The other three were taken care of by the rest of the pack, who had used their unfair advantage in numbers as much as possible. There were no risks to be taken now, and Marco had just made a very stupid mistake the Hales would be unbelievably naive to let slip by. Now, there were seventeen of the Hales, and fourteen of their enemies.

The nine wolves of the front line advanced, and the four attackers behind followed them. Stiles glanced to his side to find Allison and Emma, but they had disappeared.

Please don't get killed, Stiles thought. He felt much safer being in the presence of the two experienced adults.

Suddenly, the front line stopped, but Stiles and the other three kept going until they met them. It was obvious they could do nothing with all the trees blocking their line of sight.

As soon as he had approached her, Erica whipped her head around to meet Stiles' gaze. If her serial killer looked crazy and scary before, now that she was wolfed out, it was enough to make Stiles run towards the other direction.

"Stiles, what are you doing up here? You're gonna get yourself killed!" she grunted.

"Don't worry about us," Stiles reassured her.

That was when all the wolves turned their heads towards the mountainside.

There were footsteps, but they weren't running. They weren't charging to defend their lair. They were calm, and purposeful.

Soon enough, there were multiple figures discernible in the mist, and the approached quickly. Five werewolves, already shifted, were getting closer and closer by the minute.

What the hell? Why are they walking like they're strolling in the park? Stiles thought.

He was about to panic when their faces cleared up. Marco was in the middle, and Janice was right next to him. Apparently, she was his right hand now. A dozen other wolves were fanned out and following him. Marco was bringing out his whole pack, exposing them to the fangs and claws and magic and bullets of the Hales. That was entirely reckless.

Only, he had a defense.

As he walked, he dragged behind him Isaac, whose hands were tied behind his back, whose mouth was shut with a rag tied tightly around his head and whose face and clothes were covered in blood. Marco clutched him by the hair, and Isaac stumbled behind him clumsily.

"Isaac!" screamed Erica, at the top of her lungs. She broke out from the line and charged like a wild animal.

"No!" Scott yelled, but it was too late. Marco snapped the fingers of his free hand, and two of his Betas sprang forward, one of them being Janice. Erica primitively destroyed the throat of the first wolf in one slash, and he dropped to the ground in a lifeless heap. Janice, however, was much more careful. She saw that Erica was blinded with rage, and used logic to faint right, and quickly change course and go left. As she did, she let an arm loose, carving Erica's abdomen open effortlessly.

She dropped to the ground, dead.

All of the Hale wolves dropped on all fours and howled for their fallen ally. Stiles just stared. He was barely paying attention to Isaac, who had been fuelled with enough anger to shift, rip the ropes apart and kick away from Marco to manage and join his pack once more. David had also come in from somewhere off to the side.

"Erica!" Stiles called. He half-expected a response, but he wasn't getting one. The tears came to him, and he hadn't even noticed them. A moment after, the werewolves of both sides charged wildly at each other. Animals shrieked, shouted and slashed in the name of their honor, and Stiles tried to do whatever he could to help avenge Erica's death.

Conjuring up a fireball, he threw it up into the trees, and a flaming branch fell on top of a blond man. He screamed in pain, and Andrew took advantage of that moment of weakness to slash his throat. Marco and Derek chose that moment to shift into their Alpha forms; two big, black wolves simply circling each other while their two packs simply went berserk behind them.

"Stiles!" Lydia shrieked at one point, and Stiles jumped forward out of instinct. A gunshot rung out and a loud thud followed. A werewolf had jumped down from the top of the hill, and there blue smoke emerging from his arm now, where Lydia's wolfsbane bullet had hit home. His arm was raised nonetheless, about to strike down on a defenseless Stiles who was still face down on the ground.

Without blinking, Morrell and Deaton let loose a frenzy of lightning, frying a clean hole through his chest. He dropped like a fly.

"What the hell was that? There shouldn't be any more of them!" Lydia squeaked.

"Obviously, we've been lied to," Deaton concluded. "We need to stick together," he went on as another pair of Marco's Betas emerges from behind some trees. As they ran on all fours towards the small group, Stiles scrambled up off his feet. Before any of them could shoot anything at the approaching target, a whistling noise pierced the air. One of the wolves dropped to the ground with an arrow through his head, and the other was soon missing a head after Emma had just dropped from the skies to the rescue. Emma was soon gone, and Allison hadn't even appeared.

"They're good," Morrell remarked inappropriately.

"We can't stay under this hill, more Betas could jump on us," Lydia observed.

"Yes, we need to move," confirmed Deaton. The group of four moved deeper into the forest, where the shrubbery would provide better hiding. The hands-on battle had moved further towards the mines, and it was barely audible now, save the occasional scream or howl. Stiles realized he had not seen the beginning of Derek's battle with Marco. He had no idea how his mate was about to fare.

Suddenly, there was running.

Without giving it a second thought, Stiles pulled some fire out of thin air, spun around and willed it to fly off. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was enough to fuel fireballs twice the size he had manages to create during any training session, and at half the time.

His attack hit one of the advancing wolves, who caught fire and crashed to the ground, rolling along. Lydia let a bullet loose into his skull, quickening his death. Then, two female wolves came from the other direction, and Morrell fried the one on the right with her lightning once more. The second, the one Deaton had taken care of, simply stopped dead in her tracks when he had lifted his hand at her. She appeared as if she were choking, and Deaton's fingers slowly closed until they formed a fist. Then, he yanked his hand back and the tortured wolf dropped forward with blood spurting from her mouth that hung lifelessly open.

Stiles decided to ignore that absolutely merciless murder as the group moved toward the general direction of the mines, where they hoped they would be able to contribute to the battle and find no more casualties on their part.

Eventually, they ran into some seven werewolves in a circle, in the middle of which were Maria and her son, Andrew.

The group rushed to the aid of the pair, but their opponents had already lunged at them. Fire, lighting, claws and bullets brought Marco's Betas to the ground, leaving behind only two after only just one wave's worth of an attack. But the harm had already been done.

Andrew screamed in fury and buried his claws in the faces on the remaining Betas. Shoving them to the ground, he clenched and unclenched his fingers, using his claws which were buried deep inside their skulls to churn around the contents and cause as much of an agonizing death as possible. They were both flat on their backs, unmoving. As quickly as he had shoved them in, Andrew removed his claws from their lifeless heads and kneeled over the body of his mother, weeping his tears into her slashed throat.

He held her tight in his arms and howled his agony away, but to no avail. There was nothing to be done now.

"It's okay," he whimpered to her. "It's okay. You're going to be okay," he sobbed harder until words couldn't be made out and he gave up trying to speak.

"How touching," a female voice said. All the Hales, except for Andrew, turned around to see Janice and four Betas. "His mommy is dead."

"If it isn't the bitch," Morrell remarked coolly. Under other circumstances, Stiles would have appreciated her choice of words. Janice clicked her tongue.

"Now, that's not very nice, is it boys?" Janice said, her words turning from a girly voice to a animal growl as she and the four men shifted.

"Get them," Janice simply instructed. The men jumped forward, and Morrell's lighting brought down one of them, while one of Lydia's bullets brought one down as well. Whatever spell Deaton had been trying to use, failed and the Beta was soon on top of him, pinning him to the ground. He opened his mouth to rip Deaton to shreds, but blue smoke billowed from his temples where Lydia shot him. An instant before the last Beta reached Stiles, Morrell brought him down with her trick.

Janice opened her mouth as wide as it would go and screamed like a rabid dog. There was running behind her, but she paid no mind. Instead, she threw her body at Stiles, and before he could conjure anything up, she had him pinned by the throat to a tree.

"Nighty-night," she said snidely, and went to slash his throat. Being so close to death, Stiles' hands reacted on their own, producing a fireball the size of a soccer ball and slamming it into her stomach. Her breath was knocked out of her as her clothes caught fire and she flew backwards through the air. Landing on the ground, she tumbled backwards until she came to a stop at Isaac's feet, who had been following her scent.

He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her off the ground, drawing a scream of agony from her.

"This is for Erica," he said, and bit down hard on her throat. He ripped off half of it and spit it out in disgust, covering his face and clothes with her blood in the process. He proceeded to discard her rag of a now dead body and let it burn away.

"Isaac, where are the others? Are they holding up their own?" Deaton asked, unfazed by the gore. Isaac simply nodded towards the direction of the mines, and remained frozen where he was, looking at Janice's body burn.

The four decided to leave Isaac and Andrew behind, and head for the mines. They ran to the rescue of whoever might need their help, until they saw the two Alphas struggling with each other in a big ball of black fur. There was growling and howling and barking, and the Betas' battlefield was not too far off. Stiles would have been able to make out faces if it hadn't started raining.

"Stiles, come on, there's nothing you can do here! You're going to get yourself killed!" Morrell urged him and grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along to where all the Betas were. Stiles wasn't paying attention to walking, he was looking at the two Alphas.

They were almost identical, and Stiles tried to make out which one was Derek. Trying to maybe pick up on any emotions, or some kind of aura, or something, he found that it was nearly impossible. Then, he realized that he had stopped walking.

He looked behind him to see where Lydia, Deaton and Morrell had gone, only to see them running off. He almost ran after them. Almost.

He turned back around, and remained mesmerized by the two magnificent creatures battling each other. One of them, he wanted dead. The other, he wanted to be with for the rest of his days. And he couldn't even tell them apart. At one point, the two giant wolves fell apart and growled at each other. Their fur was bloody and their fangs were showing, and one of them had his back to Stiles. Then one that was facing him glanced at him for a second with those big red eyes, and Stiles could recognize them anywhere.

Derek was the one facing him, and Stiles could get a clear shot at Marco. He tried conjuring up a fireball, but the rain was too heavy. Derek glanced at Stiles again, and for a moment considered urging him to run away. But, that moment was all Marco needed. He lunged at Derek and the two wolves rolled away.

"Derek!" Stiles screamed, and ran after them. He saw that they had stopped, and one of them was on top of the other. From the eyes, he realized that Derek was beneath Marco, facedown. Then, keeping Derek pinned to the ground, Marco bent over and bit Derek's shoulder, hard.

Derek howled in pain through the night, and Stiles needed no more encouragement. The fire that flew from his hands hit Marco immediately, and the rain that stood in its way was turned to steam instantly. Marco fell flat on his back, but the rain quickly drenched out the flames. However, before the big Alpha managed to recover, Derek winced through the pain of his wound and jumped over him. Without wasting a moment, he bit Marco's throat and ripped it to pieces, finally killing him.

Derek spat out the piece of charred, wet and bloody wolf flesh and rolled over, collapsing on his back next to Marco's body. His disguise as a wolf faded away, and he was soon, once more, in his human form. As he lied naked on the damp leaves, Stiles could really see the extent of Marco's damage on his body.

The most recent bite left deep, bloody gashes from his shoulder to his stomach, causing him to bleed excessively and whimper in pain.

"Derek, no!" Stiles begged and ran to his side. He fell down next to his mate and realized that even the wolfish healing process wouldn't be enough to save him. Stiles' tears mixed with the rain.

"Sti—Stiles," grunted Derek. Speaking caused tremendous anguish.

"Derek, stay here. Deaton is going to fix you, don't worry," he whimpered through his sobs.

"I love—you."

"Derek, don't say that you're not dying," he cried. He sobbed for a few seconds and looked at Derek's blank expression. "You're not dying!" he screamed until his throat burned, as if that would be enough to save him.

"T—Tell Peter I love him—too."

"Derek, stop! I said you're not dying! You're going to be all right!" Stiles could barely see anything through his tears, until he could feel his heart threaten to beat out of his chest. That's when he saw a light, that's when he felt his hands move of their own coalition.

A tendril of yellow light emerged from his fingertips and whooshed around Derek's wounds, effortlessly slipping in and out of flesh, disobeying the laws of matter. Slowly, the flesh healed, and the blood the rain kept washing away stopped being replaced. It was about half a minute when all the gashes had been removed from his skin, and Stiles actually believed himself when he said that Derek was going to be okay.

"Derek? Derek, wake up!" he instructed and grabbed Derek's face in his hands. He slapped him a few times, but nothing.

"No, no, no, no, Derek!" he screamed again, and he stood up. He pressed his hands to his temples as he went through the torture of looking at Derek's body. He turned away and sobbed silently, until he saw Marco's body, still in its Alpha form.

Stiles' face twisted in agony and he threw a fireball at it.

"You killed him!"

He threw another one, and the survivors slowly started returning form their battle, approaching the commotion.

"You killed Derek!"

Stiles' vocal chords were straining, so he gave up yelling and doing magic, and resorted to some more primitive, satisfying methods. Falling on all fours, he started punching Marco in the ribs, where his fur still burned. Stiles was also burning his knuckles, but that was the least of his worries.

"Stiles!" Scott screamed, and grabbed Stiles off of Marco's body. He wrapped his hands around Stiles' body and arms, and held him close as he flailed about desperately wanting to resume his assault. The rest of the pack arrived as well, and they stayed behind watching Stiles slowly calm down and drop to his knees besides Derek's dead body and calm down until his furious screaming was reduced to pathetic, silent sobs. Scott was kneeling beside his friend.

Allison clutched her mouth and shut her eyes tight as her tears mingled with raindrops. Her father put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He had arrived with some other hunters to the rescue of the pack: Allison had called him. Jackson held Lydia, Peter stood beside them and stared in disbelief. Morrell and Deaton looked to the ground. Isaac came up from the back, holding Erica's corpse, and Andrew followed, holding his mother's body. Zachary, David, Michael and Emma stood in a row, and each showed different degrees of shock.

Stiles looked up another time at Derek, but he wasn't even breathing. He couldn't even feel any emotions coming off him.

"Damn it, Derek, get up!" he yelled and cast a healing spell for as long as he could. Nothing happened.

"Derek, wake up!" He cast it once more. After nothing happened again, he looked at Deaton desperately.

"Help me!" Deaton didn't respond. Stiles ignored his implication of the futility of trying, and he cast the spell one last time.

This time, he put his entire being into it. There was everything in there: all the memories he'd ever had of Derek, all the times he'd pushed him into a wall, all the times he'd threatened to kill him, all the times Stiles actually feared that Derek would kill him. Every time that Derek kissed him, every single time that Derek made love to him, and the fact that this sour bitch of a wolf managed to get Stiles to go from hate to love in one day.

Derek coughed.

"Derek?" Scott called softly. Everyone's eyes widened by at least twice their normal size.

"Derek," Stiles said, more urgently, and shuffled closer to his body. Derek coughed once more and shut his eyes tight as he groaned.

"Say something!" commanded Stiles. Derek took a few deep breaths before actually forming words.

"Did we win?" he asked and exhaled heavily, keeping his eyes closed. Everyone jumped and ran to Derek. They were all standing and crouching and kneeling near their Alpha, smiling from ear to ear, now that the dark moment of uncertainty had gone by.

"Yeah, we won," chuckled Stiles.


End file.
